SONGS 


OF  THE 


SOUTHWEST 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST; 


THEODORE   F.  PRICE, 


THE  DRAMATIC  IMPERSONATOR. 


TOPEKA,  KANSAS: 
GEO.  W.  CRANE  &  Co.,  PUBLISHERS, 

1881. 


Copyright  applied  for. 


•~*>>G.  W.  CRANE  &  CO  ,  PRINTERS'^- 


TO  PROFESSOR  DAVID  SWING, 
OF  CHICAGO. 


M632505 


CONTENTS: 


PAGE. 


THE  VALLEY  OP  THE  ARKANSAS,        .        .        .        .        .        .        .1 

LEDFOED'S  LEAGUE, 12 

A  PRAIRIE  ROMANCE, 27 

HANK  HAWKINS,  THE  SHOWMAN, 37 

THE  PRAIRIE  FIRE, 49 

THE  CARNIVAL  OF  DEATH, 59 

LORA, 79 

FRAGMENTS  FROM  NEWTON  : 

The  Coachman  of  the  Mountains, 89 

Marshal  King, 93 

Ruin, 97 

The  Scorge  of  Locusts,       .  101 

Dawning  Day, 103 

DEATH  OF  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN, 107 

THE  SIEGE, 113 

CHARGE  OF  THE  ICONOCLAST, 123 

MlSCEILANEOUS: 

Night  Scene  on  the  Mississippi, 135 

Tennyson, 141 

Bryant,     .        . .143 

Unrest,        ..." 145 

Geese, 147 

The  Haunted  Soul, 153 

The  Festival  Fills  Me  with  Sadness, 157 

The  Soul's  Mirror, 159 

ToH***** 163 

Oh!  Gently  Blow,  ye  Autumn  Gales!       ....  165 

Remorse, 167 

Your  Sister, 169 

She  Lives  Again, 171 

Earlham  College  Games, 173 

The  Auctioneer, 177 

To  Leona, 183 

The  Poachers'  Defeat, 185 

To  Miss  A***  B*****,         ....  189 


A  voice,  of  music,  like  a  singing  lee, — 

Lone  on  the  prairie,  on  the  mountain  brown, 
On  mighty  rivers,  in  the  midnight  town — 

Delights  my  ear,  and  bears  me  company  ; 

Breathing  strange  legends  of  the  vale  and  wood; 
Bidding  me  peer  where  jiery  passions  brood; — 

Paints  pictures  on  my  soul  of  all  1  see, 

And  syllables  harmonious  thoughts  to  me. 
Delightful  spirit  of  my  solitude  ! 

When  mind  lay  fettered  with  its  heavy  chain, 
Thou  with  bright  hope  my  darkest  hour  imbued; 

My  harp,  re-strung,  thou  gave  to  me  again  ; — 

Hark  !  the  faint  echo,  stealing  on  the  ear  ! 

Far  off,  and  faint — the  light  vibrations  hear  ! 
CHICAGO,  DECEMBER  21,  1876. 


THE  VALLEY 


OF  THE  ARKANSAS. 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  ARKANSAS. 


A    STREAM  flows  winding-  through  the  West, 

From  Colorado's  canyon's  deep; 
Far  springing'  from  her  mountain  crest, 
The  waters  wild  in  torrents  leap 
To  quench  the  thirst  of  burning  sands, 
Then  glow  anon  mid  verdant  lands. 

All  treeless  lie,  on  either  side, 
The  shores  for  many  a  trackless  league ; 
No  landmark  looms  the  way  to  guide, 
Save  yonder  far  off  mou  ntain  peak, 
Where  sage  with  spiny  cactus  grows, 
Nor  bough  a  grateful  shadow  throws. 

The  plainsman  with  his  weary  train 
Long  days  has  journeyed,  parched  with  thirst; 
Then,  gleaming  far  along  the  plain, 
Those  wished-for  waters  cheering  burst 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  ARKANSAS. 

On  his  glad  vision — lifted  high 
Like  molten  silver  'gainst  the  sky. 

Brown  herds  of  lordly  buffalo, 
Wild  dromedaries  of  the  plain, 
Surge  restlessly  as  ocean's  flow, 
Far  grazing  o'er  the  grassy  main — 
Then  starting  up  in  wild  affright, 
Wake  jarring  thunders  in  their  flight! 

Their  deadly  enemy  appears, 
Whose  near  approach  some  ruse  beguiled- 
No  mustang  troop  the  bison  fears; 
He  scents  the  huntsman  of  the  wild, 
By  mane  and  neck  almost  concealed, 
Crest  scarcely  o'er  the  steed  revealed. 

Then  firmly  grasping  bow  and  spear, 
Along  his  charger's  neck  inclined, 
The  savage  speeds  in  mad  career 
With  scalp-lock  streaming  in  the  wind; 
His  hapless  victim  singled  out 
From  'mong  the  panic-stricken  rout. 

Urged  from  the  borders  of  his  troop, 
The  bison  vainly  strives  to  flee; 


SONGS  OP  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

- 

Then  veering  like  the  vulture's  swoop, 
The  foe  pursues  relentlessly; 
The  pond'rous  prey  with  horns  held  low 
Charges,  enraged,  the  agile  foe. 

Still  close  beside  the  huntsmen  ride, 
Hoarse  bellowings  speak  the  bison's  pain ; 
The  arrows  gash  his  gory  side, 
Their  feathered  shafts  are  in  his  mane —    t 
The  lance  gleams  through  the  savage  sport — 
A  heavy  fall — a  dying  snort. 

The  squaw  will  strip  the  smoking  hide, 
The  hump  regale  the  stalwart  brave; 
The  gaunt  wolf  of  the  desert  wide 
Shall  'round  the  carcass  gnash  and  rave ; 
Some  traveler,  when  those  bones  are  bare, 
The  red  feast  with  the  vulture  share. 


Some  leagues  are  flown ; — far  other  scene 
Lists  to  the  Big  Arkansas'  song; 
The  coyote's  howl  tells  what  has  been, 
And  white  bones  strew  the  plain  along; 
The  red  man  seeks  a  far  domain, 
Nor  wigwam  dots  the  valley  plain. 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  ARKANSAS. 

Toward  Mississippi's  sunny  shores, 
She  sweeps  down  from  her  mountains  wild; 
Her  Hood  in  broad  abundance  pours 
Through  densest  forest  glades  beguiled. 
Those  waters,  once  the  beaver's  home, 
The  giant  lizards  sluggish  roam. 

Though  mild,  benignant  waters  sleep 
Between  those  banks  when  autumn  blooms, 
^V  mad  tide,  raging  vast  and  deep, 
In  early  spring-time  roaring  conies; 
Then  woe  to  daring  settler,  should 
He  seek  to  brave  that  threatening  flood ! 

The  wand' ring  stream  through  Kansas  glides, 
And  cities  gem  the  cheerful  scene ; 
Man's  broad  plantations  deck  her  sides, 
Whose  fields  of  verdure  bask  serene ; 
Exultingly  she  gleams  along 
And  sings  her  ever  varying  song. 

The  Mnescach  and  Chisholm  gleam 
Through  swaying  boughs  and  flowery  banks; 
The  plum  and  wild  grape  shade  the  stream, 
And  nod  above  in  fruitful  ranks. 
Here  floats  wild  duck  with  water-hen, 
And  marmot  burrows  in  the  fen. 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Amid  the  valley,  richly  fair, 
Two  sister  rivers,  laughing,  meet; 
And  nature  yields  a  grateful  share 
Of  bowery  nooks,  and  now'rets  sweet; 
And  of  the  south-west  hailed  the  queen  , 
The  spires  of  Witchita  are  seen  ! 

Reclaimed  from  wildest  nature's  home — 
A  wond'rous  marvel  of  the  age —  , 

She  builds  the  architrave  and  dome 
Where  lately  echoed  savage  rage; 
Nor  lingering  for  lapse  of  years, 
Wealth,  beauty,  fashion,  art  appears ! 

Bright  gem  within  an  emerald  shrine, 
The  beauteous  city  proudly  sits; 
Around  the  grassy  billows  shine, 
O'er  which  the  dark  green  shadow  nits — 
Springing,  as  by  enchantment's  wand, 
Her  walls  rise  high  above  the  land. 

'Tis  sweet  the  charming  scene  to  view, 
When  browse  the  herds  'neath  twilight  skies; 
As,  waving  'gainst  the  back-ground  blue, 
Dark  foliage  to  the  breeze  replies; 


THE  VALLEY  OP  THE  ARKANSAS. 

And  flowers  blooming  wildly  fair, 
Perfume  the  balmy  evening  air. 


HERE  Coronado  led  his  horde 
Of  Spaniards,  urged  by  greed  of  gain, 
With  conquest  written  on  his  sword ; 
The  earliest  pale  face  on  this  plain, 
To  slay  its  beasts  and  wear  their  fur — 
The  valley's  bold  discoverer ! 

A  thrifty  merchant  Durfee  was, 
Who  reared  this  Indian  trading  post, 
When  civilization  gave  no  laws 
Securing  life  or  treasure  lost; 
When  lawless  men  with  crime  in  view 
Established  here  their  rendezvous. 

But  emigration's  ceaseless  flow 
Soon  overawes  these  sons  of  crime — : 
And  settlers'  vigorous  actions  show 
Grim  retribution  bides  her  time, 
Till  gallows  tree  by  moonlight  dim, 
Bears  horse  thief  swung  from  every  limb! 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

The  desperado's  deeds  no  more 
Restraints  of  civil  law  defy; 
The  day  of  Ledford's  League  is  o'er, 
And  violence  beheld  him  die, 
Fighting  foes  fiercely,  hand  to  hand, 
Betrayed  by  one  his  early  friend. 


LEDFORD'S   LEAGUE. 


LEDFORD'S  LEAGUE. 


'HPIS  half-a-score  of  years  ago 

Since  Ledford  fell  before  his  foe- 
His  face  is  still  remembered  well  ; 
And  thrilling  tales  the  settlers  tell 
Of  his  bold  deeds,  and  plundering  band, 
When  from  the  tree-top  sprang  the  yell 
Of  catamount  o'er  twilight  land  ; 
And  sullen  nature  held  her  ban 
O'er  savage  beast  and  wolfish  man. 

He  was  a  man  of  daring  deed ; 
And  smooth  of  tongue ;  in  manner  mild ; 
No  soul  so  well  prepared  to  lead 
Marauders  of  the  prairie  wild. 
But  generous  at  times,  and  brave, 
He  interposed  his  stern  command, 
And  turned  aside  the  murd'rous  hand, 
And  aid  to  needy  settler  gave. 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST.  13 

A  horseman  formed  for  fleetest  steed — 
Unerring  shot  at  lightning  speed ! 
A  card  displayed  five  crimson  spots — 
Along  the  tube  glanced  Ledford's  eye; 
His  weapon  flashed  five  deadly  shots — 
Each  bullet  bore  a  spot  away ! 
Such  feat — a  score  of  steps  removed — 
His  matchless  skill  as  marksman  proved. 


A  black  man  sat  astride  his  mule ; 
Sat  somnolent  with  blinking  eye — 
Firm  fingers  clenched  his  yielding  wool, 
And  Ledford's  charger  fleet  flew  by ! 
Held  high,  and  howling  'bove  the  plain, 
His  dangling  feet  ne'er  touch  the  ground; 
Wild  laughter  greets  his  cry  of  pain, 
From  rude  frontiersmen  gathered  'round. 


What  wonder,  then,  he  thought  that  day 
Foul  Lucifer  bore  him  away ! 
The  devil  and  Tom  Walker  ne'er 
More  swiftly  sped  for  hades  drear ! — 
Thus  Ledford's  strength  and  skill  subdued 
His  band  of  spirits  fierce  and  rude. 


14  LEDFORD'S  LEAGUE. 

'Twas  not  the  love  of  cruel  act, 
Nor  greed  that  loved  ill-gotten  gain, 
That  made  him  outlaw  of  the  plain; 
Things  such  as  these  could  ne'er  attract. 
The  thrilling  scenes  of  early  life, 
Those  years  with  fierce  adventure  rife, 
Hair-breadth  escapes  that  mark  the  past, 
Insatiate  love  bred  in  his  breast 
For  desperate  dangers  of  the  west. 

The  nation's  scout,  he  won  renown; 
Intrepid,  brave,  excelled  by  none. 
Familiar  things  were  wounds  to  him, 
Who  bore  their  scars  on  every  limb; 
And  they  were  myriad  on  his  breast, 
As  many  an  eye  could  well  attest, 
That  knew  the  heart  of  Ledford  best. 

To  him  he  chose  to  name  a  friend, 
His  truth  was  steadfast  to  the  end ; 
Remorselessly  he  slew  his  foe, 
And  vengeance  he  would  e'er  forego. 


A  cavern  wild,  to  few  revealed, 
Dense  thickets  deep  within  the  shore 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST.  15 

The  robbers'  rendezvous  concealed, 
Who  to  its  shades  their  plunder  bore. 
'Twas  wide  within,  that  refuge  cave, 
And  entered  from  the  darkened  wave 
Where  tangled  roots,  and  bending  sedge 
Drooped  o'er  it's  densely  shaded  edge, 
Which  wove  a  thick  umbrageous  door, 
Fringed  high  above  with  mosses  hoar 
That  hung  from  tree  trunks  mottled  dark, 
Where  basked  the  snake  on  glossy  bark. 

The  entrance  hid  by  foliage  green, 
Five  hundred  horse  might  stand  within; 
Secure  concealed  from  all  without, 
Where  silent  waters  spread  about, 
Which  ne'er  betrayed  where  hoof  had  been. 

Far  in  the  cavern,  dark  and  deep, 
A  break  gave  means  of  swift  escape ; 
And  when  was  danger  imminent, 
A  sentinel  the  signal  sent ; 
Should  foe  perchance  e'er  enter  there, 
He  might  but  find  deserted  lair. 

They  hied  them  here  the  foe  to  foil, 
'Twas  here  they  met  for  midnight  raid; 


16  LEDFORD'S  LEAGUE. 

Here  gathered  to  divide  the  spoil ; 
Here  died  the  traitor  who  betrayed. 


BY  shades  of  night  obscured,  away 
The  bold  marauder  urged  his  prey — 
A  splendid  steed,  a  stolen  prize — 
To  where  his  mystic  pathway  lies; 
Eluding  by  his  arts  acute 
The  foemen  hotly  in  pursuit; 
Plunging  in  deepest  shade  he  flies, 
Engulfed  in  night's  dark  mysteries. 

Now  he  beholds  Arkansas  gleam — 
Swift  plashes  down  the  shallow  stream; 
A  league  pursues  his  watery  way 
To  where  the  sheltering  cavern  lay. 
There  through  dense  shadows  none  can  see 
The  daring  bandit  disappear. 
He  parts  the  wild  vines  now,  and  he 

Beyond  pursuit  knows  naught  of  fear. 
t 

Pursuers  baffled,  long  in  vain 
Search  eager  for  the  trail  again ; 
The  shining  waters  hide  the  track, 
And  flash  their  mild  defiance  back. 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST.  17 

Within  the  cavern  comrades  greet; 
Praise,  while  they  stroke  the  charger  fleet; 
Then,  neath  the  torch's  nickering  glare, 
The  bandits  spread  their  homely  fare. 
No  danger  near,  they  fain  resign 
Their  care  to  quaff  the  cheering  wine; 
And  many  a  daring,  desperate  deed, — 
Aye,  deeds  of-  horror  and  of  blood ! 
Recount  they  there  beside  that  flood 
Slow  rippling  by ;  nor  stops  to  heed 
The  frequent  oath,  the  ruder  jest 
O'er  narrative  of  lawless  quest. 

A  stranger  'mid  the  murderous  band 
Frivolous  gamed  with  dextrous  hand; 
Swore  desp'rate  oaths  as  loud  as  they, 
As  interest  deepened  in  the  play. 
A  counterfeiter  from  the  north, 
Dispensed  queer  coins  at  Leavenworth; 
Discovered,  men  were  on  his  track — 
Had  thrice  escaped  from  prison  cell; 
Pursuit  was  foiled — foes  turned  them  back, 
And  he  'mid  scenes  remote  would  dwell. 

Such  was  the  tale — 'twas  smoothly  told, 
With  swag'ring  air  and  feature  bold; 


18  LEDFOKD'S  LEAGUE. 

But  something  in  his  wavering  eye 

Had  not  been  passed  unheeded  by. 
There  were  dread  signs  that  boded  ill — 
Signs  terrible  'niong  men  who  kill ! 

Dark  lowering  brows  aside  were  bent ; 
Strange  looks,  and  nods  significant ; 
Low  mutt'rings  breathed  a  hated  name — 
A  vigilanter  ?  spy  ? — the  same ! 

One  on  the  trigger  placed  a  hand; 
Then  scowled  inquiringly  about 
With  glance  not  hard  to  understand. 
One  rose,  and  cautious  peered  ^  without — 
A  deadly  flash — a  fleeting  ball — 
A  bleeding  wound — a  heavy  fall ; 
And  lo !  Along  the  crimson  floor, 
Their  guest  lay  groaning  in  his  gore. 

The  robber  chief  the  writhing  form 
Beheld,  then  strode  to  where  he  lay; 
Looked  on  the  life-blood  gushing  warm, 
And  heard  the  lips  for  mercy  pray 
Between  the  struggling  gasps  for  breath, 
In  lingering  agony  of  death. 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST.  19 

"Poor  fellow,  I  will  be  a  friend; 
Your  misery  this  hand  shall  end." 

The  weapon  gleamed  from  out  his  belt; 
The  shining  steel  the  pressure  felt; 
The  bullet  found  the  throbbing  brain, 
And  death  was  there  to  end  his  pain. 

Oh,  could  that  river  murmuring  low, 
Tell  of  dark  deeds  she  witnessed  there, 
Her  bosom  dyed  in  crimson  glow, 
From  that  cold  shape  her  waters  bear, 
Ye'd  learn  low  from  her  yellow  bank 
That  form  was  flung — and  sullen  sank. 


LONE  traveler  through  this  region  drear, 
Deems  all  secure,  nor  harbors  fear. 
With  weapons  clenched  and  watchful  eye, 
The  outlaws  close  beside  appear, 
Crouched  neath  that  clump  he  passes  by. 
They  spring  before  the  startled  team ! 
A  short  resistance  bids  him  die ! 
No  ear  to  heed  his  pleading  cry; 


20  LEDFORD'S  LEAGUE. 

The  night  winds  moan  responsive  sigh — 
They  plunge  his  body  in  the  stream. 

The  wild-cat  rent  the  stilly  air, 
Like  some  lone  goblin  of  despair; 
At  midnight  deep,  the  panther's  scream 
Breaks  on  the  bandit's  troubled  dream. 


A  TIME  the  daring  bandit  chief 
Wearied  of  strife,  and  sought  relief 
From  every  rude  and  dismal  scene, 
Where  peace  and  quietude  convene. 

• 

Though  fierce  in  brawling  border  fight, 
He  well  wras  skilled  in  arts  polite ; 
With  bearing  high,  of  manly  grace; 
And  smiles  were  frequent  on  his  face. 
And  oft  he  came,  a  welcome  guest, 
To  settler's  thrifty  border  home; 
Where  fair  ones'  smiles  full  oft  confest 
Their  hearts  beat  faster  when  he  come. 

And  there  was  one  his  soul  subdued, 
Who  strove  to  lure  him  from  this  wray, 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST.  21 

That  stained  his  hand  full  oft  with  blood, 
In  deeds  that  shun  the  light  of  day. 


The  fair  and  gentle  Alice  loved, 
And  Ledford's  fiery  spirit  moved 
To  quit  for  aye  the  desp'rate  band 
He  long  had  led  with  dauntless  hand. 
He  learned  a  lawful,  peaceful  art; 
Resigned  him  to  love's  fond  command, 
And  Alice  reigned  within  his  heart. 


He  grew  a  leader  in  the  game 
That  pleased  the  hardy  frontier  crew; 
And  warm  admirers  round  him  drew, 
Whose  praises  bore  afar  his  fame. 


Without  their  dauntless  brave  to  lead 
The  fierce  attack,  the  midnight  raid, 
The  desperadoes  grew  dismayed, 
And  to  their  leader's  voice  gave  heed. 
They  followed  still  their  hero  chief; 
They  learned  like  him  the  arts  of  peace; 
The  vale  rejoiced  at  crime's  decrease — 
They  plowed  the  land,  they  bound  the  sheaf. 


22  LEDFOKD'S  LEAGUE. 

The  settlers'  daughters  made  them  wives, 
Who  knew  to  tame  the  heart  of  man ; 
And  in  their  peaceful  homes  began 
To  bless  with  happiness  their  lives. 


The  ruder  ruffian  failed  to  find 
Contentment  'neath  domestic  roof; 
Nor  from  the  old  life  held  aloof — 
There  came  to  him  nor  peace  of  mind. 
His  restless  spirit  spurned  restraint ; 
And  deep  and  loud  his  oft  complaint, 
While  he  drained  deep  the  firey  bowl. 
Then  loud  defying  every  law 
That  would  their  lawlessness  control, 
Wildly  they  rode  through  Wichita, 
With  weapons  blazing  while  they  sped, 
And  townsmen  shrank,  and  women  fled! 


Full  oft— and  madness  rules  the  day — 
They  clenched,  and  fought  in  fierce  affray; 
Quick  oaths — red  knives  that  gleam  again — 
A  fall — a  groan — a  comrade  slain ! 
Completing  many  a  mad  career, 
Borne  to  the  grave  on  blood-stained  bier. 


SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST,  23 

v 

'Mong  these — a  man  of  roughest  mold — 
Was  Marshall ;  second  in  command, 
Lieutenant  long  of  Ledford's  band  ; 
Unlike  his  chief  in  many  a  way  ; 
Fierce  tiger  when  he  stood  at  hay ; 
Like  him  renowned  for  spirit  bold. 


Wed  with  a  girl  of  low  estate — 
A  beautiful  unfortunate — 
The  ruffian's  rudeness  broke  her  heart; 
She  grew  aweary  of  the  world, 
And  long  endured  grief's  bitterest  smart, 
Till  patience  from  her  throne  was  hurled. 


Her  own  hand  mixed  the  fatal  draught ; 
Her  lips  the  deadly  poison  quaffed ; 
Then,  e'er  those  lips  in  death  were  sealed, 
She  to  the  monster's  soul  appealed. 
With  glazing  eye  she  bade  him  stay 
His  steps  so  long  in  evil  way; 
Plead  with  weak  voice,  and  failing  breath : 
"  Six  moons,"  she  said,  "  shall  pass  you  by, 
And  by  my  side  your  form  shall  lie."" 
True  prophecy!  'Twas  as  she  said — 
Six  moons,  and  Marshall,  too,  lay  dead ! 


24  LEDFORD'S  LEAGUE. 


AMID  such  joys  as  Ledford  knew, 
He  learned  to  love  the  good,  the  true. 
A  few  short  weeks  of  wedded  life — 
0,  happy  weeks!  0,  happy  wife! 
Still  one  destroying  trait  was  kept ; 
Down  deep  within  his  bosom  slept 
A  hatred  cruel  as  the  grave — 
One  injury  he  ne'er  forgave. 
He  vowed — and  'twas  no  idle  threat, 
"When  I  shall  see  the  knave,  he  dies! 
I'll  shoot  Jack  Bridges  'twixt  the  eyes!  " 
ISTor  was  he  known  to  e'er  forget. 

Then  Bridges  learned  of  Ledford's  vow, 
Serving  as  minion  of  the  law. 
Ere  long  he  sped  to  Wichita, 
Alert  for  vengeance — Ledford's  life ; 
And  burned  to  meet  his  foe  in  strife. 

A  comrade  to  the  valley  came — 
Perfecting  plans — a  deadly  game — 
For,  well  might  Bridges  fear  to  call 
His  whilome  chief  to  deadly  brawl ; 
Their  past  adventures  served  to  tell 


SONGS  OP  THE  SOUTHWEST.  25 

His  foeman's  prowess  all  too  well ; 
And  now  he  sought,  well  armed,  to  lay 
In  ambush  for  his  wily  prey. 

A  troop  of  cavalry  to  aid, 
Lay  close  concealed  within  the  shade 
Of  sombre  grove  of  cotton-wood, 
That  by  the  river's  margin  stood. 

The  spies  thought  Ledford  from  the  town, 
And  strolled,  suspecting  not  the  foe. 
The  way  turned  suddenly — when,  lo  ! 
They  met  his  fierce,  menacing  frown. 
The  flames  of  malice  ne'er  abate, 
O'er  unforgotten  deed  of  hate — 
No  wrath  like  that  of  former  friends ; 
Only  in  death  their  hatred  ends. 

The  unarmed  Ledford  sprang  away, 
Then  faced  his  foes,  and  stood  at  bay 
Behind  a  friendly  sheltering  shed, 
Prepared  to  close  in  combat  dread. 

A  friendly  hand  threw  weapons  there — 
Firm  clenched,  they  flash! — when,  from  his  lair 


26  LEDFORD'S  LEAGUE. 

The  outlaw  sprang  as  Bridges  fell, 
Whose  comrade  swift  avenged  his  fall ; 
And  sent  the  hotly  spinning  ball, 
Aimed  too  unerringly  and  well — 
To  find  a  lodgment  in  his  breast ; 
Another  shot ! — a  shattered  wrist ! 

The  bandit  over  Bridges  stood, 
All  crimsoned  o'er  with  streaming  blood; 
And  while  the  earth  life's  current  drank, 
Doomed  Ledford's  failing  weapon  sank 
Impotent  o'er  his  prostrate  foe, 
Scarce  injured  yet — though  fallen  low, 
And  similating  death,  he  lay, 
While  faint  his  foeman  turned  away. 

His  quivering  limbs  could  illy  bear 
The  outlaw's  form  beyond  the  spot, 
Where  friendly  hands  bestowed  their  care ; 
But  death  had  winged  the  fatal  shot — 
He  knew  the  messenger  was  nigh ; 
Then,  e'er  he  closed  for  aye  his  eye  : 
"Speak,  have  I  killed  him?"  "  No,"  they  said 
And  then — the  bandit  chief  was  dead. 
WICHITA,  April,  1881. 


A  PRAIRIE  ROMANCE 


A   PRAIRIE   ROMANCE. 


A  MID  the  grandeur  of  the  East, 

Where  wealth  piled  high  her  plentitude, 
A  youthful  pair,  from  care  released, 
In  one  bright,  blissful  dream  abode, 
Till  youth's  ambition  bore  away 
The  sun  that  lit  the  maiden's  day. 


Though  Helen's  hand  to  him  resigned 
Would  more  than  competence  insure, 
Warren's  nobility  of  mind 
Forbade  to  wed  while  he  was  poor. 
Entreaties  failed;  farewell's  were  said; 
Far  to  the  sunset  land  he  sped. 

Sweet  maiden,  there  were  none  to  share 
Thy  woes;  with  blooming  youth  had  grown 
That  tender  passion ;  bleak  dispair 


30  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Were  doubly  thine,  could'st  thou  have  known 
Those  anxious  years  of  hope  and  pain, 
E'er  Warren's  arms  should  clasp  again. 

Oh,  fairest  Helen!  richly  blest 
With  loveliest  attributes  of  mind, 
Thy  form  of  moulded  grace  possessed 
The  budding  charms  of  womankind; 
With  gentlest  dignity  of  pride, 
Received  from  sire's  aspiring  tide. 


There  be  who  are,  some  are  not  wise, 
So  runs  the  wrorld  eternally, 
'Mid  maidens'  tears  and  lovers'  sighs, 
And  murmured  vows  of  constancy; 
Howbeit,  months,  aye!  years  of  gloom 
With  disappointments'  woes  do  come. 

Oh,  when  through  fickle  fortune's  frown, 
Grim  failure  sneers  at  every  turn, 
And  bows  the  soul  in  sadness  down, 
Oh,  where  shall  man  submission  learn? 
So  mused  the  sire  of  Helen,  when 
With  her  he  sought  the  spreading  plain. 


A  PRAIRIE  ROMANCE.  31 

Far  in  the  West  a  quick  retrieve 
Was  promised  for  his  fortune's  wreck; 
Where  otter,  wolf,  and  badger,  give 
The  soft  fir  circling  beauty's  neck; 
And  dusky  warriors  in  return, 
Fire-arms  and  loved  fire-water  earn. 

Bright  naiad  of  Arkansas'  stream ! 
Such  soft,  brown  hair  and  hazel  eyes 
Oft  wakens  admiration's  beam, 
And  bids  the  fond  emotions  rise— 
Those  eyes  no  soft  responses  dart, 
For  Warren  lives  in  Helen's  heart. 

Still,  constancy  in  her  pure  breast 
Abode,  amid  misfortune's  woes; 
Hope    cheered   their  journeyings   through  the 

West, 

And  forced  the  pensive  smile  that  rose, 
E'en  while  she  traced  the  line  to  tell 
Her  wand'ring  lover  what  befell. 


OH,  why  seek  fortune,  name  and  fame, 
When  frowns  the  whole  world  cold  and  dark? 


32  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

How  can  ambition's  glowing  flame 
Shed  through  the  soul  its  vital  spark? 
Thus,  Warren — Helen  false  or  dead — 
On  dark,  dispairing  fancies  fed. 

He  languished;  still  no  message  came 
To  cheer  him  through  the  toiling  days ; 
Though  many  missives  bore  her  name, 
He  found  her  not.     So  time  delays 
'Mid  hoping,  waiting.     Thus  it  is, 
Bleak  disappointments  banish  bliss ! 

The  restless  child  of  scowling  fate, 
Intent  on  drowning  gloomy  care, 
With  scarce  a  ling'ring  hope  elate, 
Denounced  the  city's  baleful  glare; 
Where  toilsome  nights  beheld  his  pen 
Portray  the  griefs  and  joys  of  men. 

Lured  by  the  rumors  floating  far, 
Perfumed  by  prairie's  breath  of  balm, 
Seeking  to  prove  if  clouds  can  mar 
Such  scenes  so  fair  and  wildly  calm. 
Of  sweet  forgetfulness  in  quest, 
He  hied  him  to  the  famed  Southwest. 


A  PRAIRIE  ROMANCE.  33 

Oh,  waft  ye,  fragrant  zephyrs,  from 
Long  bending  grass  and  pictured  hills ! 
From  nature's  gorgeous  gardens  come 
And  laugh  with  all  your  rippling  rills ! 
Oh,  spread  your  glowing  beauties  out — 
I  hail  you  with  a  joyous  shout! 

He  heard  the  boom  of  prairie  hen, 
That  roused  him  with  the  morning  star; 
Sought  brant  and  wild  goose  'mid  the  fen, 
And  chased  the  fleet  jack-rabbit  far; 
Pursued  beyond  the  valley  slope 
The  graceful  bounding  antelope. 

The  sensitive  plant's  rare,  ruby  tint, 
By  young  winds  fed  with  silver  dew, 
In  settings  of  the  fragrant  mint, 
Shrinks  from  his  touch — as  maidens  do 
Before  the  glance  their  beauty  claims, 
When  ardent  admiration  flames. 

~No  gleaming  dome  of  palace  grand, 
In  dazzling  grandeur  greets  his  eye, 
Where  unpretentious  dwellings  stand, 
He  might  not  view  admiringly; 


34  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

No  span  'bove  the  Arkansas  stood, 
Where  wave  the  silvery  cottonwood. 

A  strangely  mingled  group  was  there, 
As  rude  the  infant  hamlet  lay; 
Bold  borderers  with  flowing  hair, 
Who  wond'rous  skill  in  chase  display — 
Adventurers  of  every  grade, 
With  enterprising  sons  of  trade. 

That  frontier's  luxuries  were  few, 
Though  fashion  came  with  polished  arts ; 
For,  beauty  here  had  wandered,  too, 
To  win  and  tame  the  ruder  hearts; 
And  oftentimes  a  deeper  shade 
Tinged  the  brown  cheek  of  native  maid. 

Oh,  many  a  mirthful  gathering  there 
The  prairie  moon  smiled  down  upon, 
As  joyously  the  young  and  fair 
Whirled  the  gay  dance  till  night  was  gone — 
Their  sprightly  pipe  and  viol  ne'er 
To  sound  in  splendor's  halls  would  dare. 


A  PRAIRIE  ROMANCE.  35 

BEGUILED  by  sportive  comrades  gay 
One  eve,  where  whirled  the  dizzy  dance, 
Young  Warren  gazed  admiringly, 
With  more  than  rapture  in  his  glance, 
On  one  fair  form  of  matchless  grace — 
Her  face  shone  on  him — Helen's  face ! 

'Twas  his  heart's  idol,  lost — and  found: 
In  glad  surprise  and  wild  delight 
She  sought  his  arms,  that  close  enwound, 
To  tell  the  story  of  her  flight; 
And  speak  of  halcion  years  to  come, 
With  him  in  their  sweet  valley  home. 

"Dear  Warren,  I  have  mourned  for  you, 
Not  knowing  where  my  love  was  flown; 
Oh,  how  could  you  think  her  untrue 
Whose  faithfulness  these  years  have  shown  ? 
Our  happiness  shall  not  be  less, 
Though  fate  has  lingered  long  to  bless. 

"Far  other  scenes  beheld  us  reared, 
'Mong  friends  remote,  in  other  time, 
Before  misfortune's  clouds  appeared, 
Before  I  sought  the  western  clime ; 


36  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Nor  dreamed,  then,  such  secluded  spot 
Should  e'er  be  mine  or  Warren's  lot." 

"  Oh,  Helen  !   could  I  dream  or  know 
That  I  should  find  my  darling  here  ? 
The  lowering  future  fails  to  show 
The  blessings  she  so  soon  shall  bear. 
Blest  be  my  unseen  guiding  star, 
That  lured  me  to  my  bride  afar." 

No  moon  e'er  shone  with  milder  light, 
Enthroned  mid  skies  of  deeper  blue, 
Than  softly  shines  this  balmy  night, 
Suggestive  of  the  good,  the  true, 
As  reunited,  side  by  side, 
Strays  Warren  and  his  blooming  bride. 

'Mid  that  rejoicing  scene  he  found 
One  flower  that  cheered  the  valley  fair, 
Whose  potent  magic  quickly  drowned 
The  woes  he  illy  strove  to  bear; 
And  two  hearts  throbbed  in  pure  delight, 
When  joy  sprang  forth  from  sorrow's  night. 


HANK  HAWKINS, 


THE   SHOWMAN. 


HANK  HAWKINS,  THE   SHOWMAN. 


OILENT  signs  of  man's  art  in  the  midst  of  the  plain, 

By  long  grass  o'erhung,  still  the  earth-pits  remain, 
Where  nature  un vanquished,  dominion  declares, 
'Mid  lifeless,  deserted,  and  dim  thoroughfares;    \ 
Converging  from  distant  points,  hither  they  meet, 
Where  the  long,  level  prairie  paths  merged  in  a  street. 
Habitations  of  men  in  the  distance  arise, 
Indenting  the  regular  rim  of  the  skies, 
Where  the  wide  prairie  rolls  to  the  horizon's  bar, 
Arid  the  fragrant  wild  rose  spreads  its  odors  afar ; 
Undisturbed  by  the  voice  of  man's  toil-laden  dream, 
Here  the  spirit  of  solitude  reigneth  supreme. 

The  river,  light-skirted  by  green  cottonwood, 
Bends  away  to  the  eastward;  here  Park  City  stood, — 
But  where  are  her  dwellings  that  gleamed  o'er  the  plain, 
And  cheered  the  worn  emigrant's  famishing  train? 


40  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Fair  Sedgwick,  exulting !  'tis  thine  to  reply — 
Alluring  her  people,  beholding  her  die. 
The  ringing  rail  gleams  at  thy  glad  trader's  door, 
And  thy  rival's  existence  disturbs  thee  no  more. 
Kow  the  site  of  Park  City  is  all  that  remains 
Of  the  beautiful  village,  the  pride  of  the  plains. 

Hank  Hawkins,  a  hardy  young  denizen,  came, 
And  hard  by  the  hamlet  was  holding  a  claim ; 
Heroically  striving  through  hardship  and  toil, 
To  kill  the  wild  nature  that  clung  to  the  soil ; 
Inverting  the  prairie  grass  never  disturbed 
By  the  might  of  the  steed  that  the  plowman  had  curbed; 
Industriously  strewing  the  ground  with  the  grain, 
While  strange  projects  formed  in  his  versatile  brain. 
Ambition's  stern  struggles  brought  ceaseless  unrest, 
And  a  longing  for  eminence  woke  in  his  breast ; 
And  how  to  attain  the  desire  of  his  heart, 
Was  the  dream  that  refused  from  his  brain  to  depart. 

Like  Mmrod  of  old,  the  first  huntsman  of  might, 
Hank  Hawkins  pursued  the  wild  chase  with  delight; 
His  success  as  a  huntsman  his  cabin  attests, 
Which  the  fur  of  wild  animals  thickly  invests. 
Here  roam  through  the  valley  the  buffalo  brown, 


HANK  HAWKINS,  THE  SHOWMAN. 


41 


Bear,  badger  and  otter.     Fur,  finer  than  down, 

A  carpet  for  comfort  and  luxury  made, 

And  a  couch  of  soft  skins  in  the  room  is  displayed. 

Like  Little  Red  Ridinghood's  bed,  there  appears 

By  the  pillow  protruding  a  pair  of  wolfs  ears ; 

The  huge  claws  of  bruin  decorating  one  side, 

While  dangling  beyond  hangs  the  badger's  gray  hide  ; 

Below,  mottled  skins  of  the  antelope  meet, 

And  the  couch  of  Hank  Hawkins  is  soft  and  complete. 


Near  the  door  of  the  domicile,  held  by  a  chain, 
A  bear  cub  reposes  at  length  on  the  plain ; 
Occasionally  growling  complaints  at  his  foes, 
The  mischievous  insects  that  tickled  his  nose  ; 
A  cowardly  coyote  concluding  his  meal, 
Behind  the  rude  kennel  his  form  would  conceal ; 
Two  brown,  cunning  prairie  dogs  gambol  before 
The  opening  that  serves  for  the  cabin's  rude  door; 
A  beautiful  antelope  sports  in  high  glee, 
Like  a  bird  lightly  bounding,  as  graceful  and  free 
A  black  wolf  is  snarling  and  gnawing  a  bone; 
A  buffalo  calf  stands  impatient,  alone, 
And  sullenly  stamping  diminutive  hoof, 
From  a  natural  enemy  holding  aloof. 


42  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

The  lord  of  the  motley  assemblage,  perusing 
A  train  of  deep  thought,  o'er  the  picture  is  musing. 
His  lank  figure  leans  by  an  earth-planted  beam, 
While   his   bronze   features   bend   to   the    play    of   his 

dream — 

Then  Hawkins  deliberately  strode  from  his  place, 
With  his  chin  in  his  palm,  stern  resolve  in  his  face  ; 
Complaisantly  raised  the  broad  brim  from  his  brow, 
And  breathed  in  these  words  a  significant  vow : 
"  I'll  do  it,  for  what  is  the  good  stayin'  here  ? — 
So  soon  as  I've  gathered  my  melons  this  year, 
My  menagerie  shall  move ;  for  I  must  see  the  sights — 
Won't  I  take  in  the  money,  those  days  and  those  nights  ? 
Thare's  Hammond  won't  mind  lookin'  after  the  claim 
Till  I  can  come  back  agin,  bringin'  a  name. 
Indianaians  never  saw  varmints  like  them — 
I  warrant  they'd  shy  from  that  lazy  bar,  Jim ! 

"I  calculate  it's  a  considerable  plan 
To  hunt  all  these  animals  up,  and  a  man 
Deserves  suthin'  more  than  jist  'thanky,'  to  drive 
Cl'ar  back  to  the  States  with  the  critters  alive ! 
They  ought  to  be  glad  to  come  into  my  show, 
Fer  nateral  hist'ry  is  suthin'  to  know. 
I'll  start  in  the  show  business  sartin'  and  sure, 
And  it's  time  I  was  travellin'  round  on  my  tour. 


HANK  HAWKINS,  THE  SHOWMAN.  43 

• 

There's  no  reason  on  'arth  why  I  can't  afford 
To  fetch  up  a  Barnum,  or  Artemus  Ward ! — 
Thunderashun !  how  awful  them  Hoosiers'll  laugh, 
To  gaze  at  the  pranks  of  this  buffaler  calf!  " 

Hank  roused  up  the  bear  from  his  nap  in  the  sun; 
The  villainous  wolf,  having  finished  his  bone, 
Round  his  well  trodden  range  began  restlessly  pacing, 
As  the  keeper  his  steps  to  the  hut  was  retracing. 
As  he  stood  by  the  cabin,  long  time  did  he  pore 
O'er  the  lumber  that  lay  by  his  domicile  door, 
Perfecting  his  plans. 

"I'll  jest  fix  up  them  cages 

A  slashin'  round  swifter'n  if  workin'  fur  wages. 
The  varmints  all  orter  have  bars  to  their  dens — 
'T won't  seem  much  like  standin'  out  here  on  the  plains. 
I'll  gear  the  team  now,  and  drive  down  to  the  Park , 
An'  be  back  with  the  fixin's  I  need  afore  dark." 

As   he   sped   o'er   the   smooth,    level   prairie,    grand 

schemes 

Progressed  toward  completion  in  wonderful  dreams ; 
Some  time  e'er  the  end  of  his  journey  was  made, 
His  plans  of  procedure  in  detail  were  laid. 


44  SONGS  OP  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

• 

A  route  deemed  propitious  was  planned   through  a  re 
gion 
Where  the  western  menagerie's  patrons  were  legion. 

The  Park  City  people  praised  highly  the  plan ; 
Admiringly  gazed  on  the  wonderful  man ! 
His  dens  all  completed,  the  beasts  were  confined, 
The  beautiful  antelope  tethered  behind. 
All  plans  are  perfected,  provisions  secure, 
Bright  hope  is  before  him,  and  smiles  to  allure. 
Kind  friends  wish  him  well  at  the  moment  of  starting, 
And  Hawkins  for  unexplored  fields  is  departing. 

Weary  days  rolled  away  e'er  he  made  his  first  stand, 
Having  safely  arrived  in  the  civilized  land. 
All  arrangements  complete,  he  an  orchestra  sought — 
Without  music,  exhibiting  comes  to  but  naught. 

Disturbed  were  Hank's  slumbers  that  night,   and  he 

dreamed 

He  possessed  a  huge  canvas,  and  myriads  teemed 
Within  and  without;  the  full  treasury  groaned 
With  the  money  collected;  immense  wealth  he  owned — 
The  brass  band  discoursed  a  most  beautiful  strain, 
While  the  lion  was  roaring  and  shaking  his  mane. 


HANK  HAWKINS,  THE  SHOWMAN.  45 

The  lady  performer,  ascending  the  wire, 
O'er  the  glistening  top-canvas  ascended  still  higher, 
Gracefully  girating  in  spangles  and  gauze, 
Defiant  of  all  gravitation's  fixed  laws. 
Multitudes  with  fixed  faces  all  heavenward  gazed ; 
Wealth,  beauty  and  fashion,  all  brilliantly  blazed! 
He,  the  richly  dressed  manager,  chain  of  gold  wore, 
And  valuable  diamonds  his  finger-rings  bore. 

The  music  clashed  loudly,  and  thousands  pressed  in; — 
Then  a  thunder-storm  broke  with  a  deafening  din, 
And  the  wind  pulled  the  stakes,  and  the  center-poles  fell; 
Loud  roared  the  wild  beasts,  with  a  terrible  yell ! 
The  lightnings  flashed  fiercely!  the  people  complained; 
The  wagon  was  struck  that  the  treasure  contained ! 
With  the  anguish  he  woke, — and  what  ended  his  pain 
Was  his  own  bear  uneasily  rattling  his  chain ! 

Next  morn  as  he    strode   through   the    midst   of  his 

beasts, 
Grown  thinner  through  travel — when   few   were   their 

feasts — 

Consuming  solicitude  surged  in  his  breast, 
That  dream  having  left  him  careworn  and  oppressed. 
Then  the  band  of  musicians  in  promptitude  came, 


46  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

"With  the  radiant  rising  of  day's  cheerful  flame; 
And  their  lively  strains  floated  from  trumpet  and  drum, 
Commingling  e'er  long  with  the  crowd's  happy  hum. 
Multitudes  through  the  entrance  in  fitful  streams  pour, 
To  the  keeper  transferring  admission  fees  o'er, 
Whose  features  ne'er  glistened  so  brightly  before. 

The  rustic  amazement  was  quaintly  expressed, 
As  they  gazed  at  the  "varmints'.'  from  far  away  West. 
How  they  laugh  at  the  moods  of  the  sullen  young  bison ; 
Their  cudgels  the  black  wolf  sets  teeth  like  a  vice  on; 
The  antelope's  mottles  fair  fingers  caress, 
And  the  teeth  of  the  coyote  are  gnashed  in  distress; 
While  the  showman  is  frequently  forced  to  repair 
Where  the  gamin  too  roughly  are  teasing  the  bear. 
At  shadows  of  night-fall  the  people  disperse, 
And  Hawkins  complaisantly  makes  up  his  purse. 

'Twas  varying  success  as  again  and  again 
The  menagerie  was  shown  from  the  far  away  plain — 
Then  the  skies  frowned  upon  him  with  terrible  rain. 
He  had  sought  a  fair  village,  yet  people  came  not, 
The  torrents  preventing  their  reaching  the  spot. 

How  vainly  he  waited,  as  day  after  day 
Came  landlord  and  butcher  demanding  their  pay, 


HANK  HAWKINS,  THE  SHOWMAN.  47 

For  the  last  of  his  treasure  had  vanished  away. 

While  the  floods  were  descending,  he  soliloquised: 

"Hank  Hawkins,  you  needn't  be  any  surprised 

If  yer  luck's  goin'  back  on  yer — I  r'aly  vow 

An  elephant's  trod  on  this  pocket-book,  now! 

My  varmints  an'  me  had  jest  better  pull  out; 

If  we  can't  have  fair  weather,  we'll  travel  without." 


•Another  location  e'er  long  he  had  found — 
A  village  of  Hoosiers  distributed  round 
On  claybariks  and  gullies.     Convenient  room 
Was  procured  in  the  midst  of  misgiving  and  gloom. 
A  town  without  music ! — unkempt  and  uncouth 
Are  the  denizens  of  such  a  hamlet,  forsooth ! 


Through  the  ominous  quietude  scarcely  a  score 
Apathetically  sought  the  menagerie's  door. 
The  "Van  Winkles"  cared  not  for  the  wonderful  West, 
Twenty  leagues  from  their  homes  they  had  never  pro 
gressed. 

E'en  the  few  who  the  price  of  admission  would  spare, 
Knew  naught  of  the  land  of  the  bison  and  bear, 
And  the  other  queer  quadrupeds  there  to  be  shown , 
Supposing  they  probably  fell  from  the  moon. 


48  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Ill  fortune  continued ;  vast  volumes  of  rain 
Continued  to  deluge  the  hill  and  the  plain. 
Solitary,  solicitous,  lone  in  the  gloom, 
Hank  waited  the  measure  of  merciless  doom. 
Growled  the  animals  grim  o'er  their  scanty  repast, 
As  the  bailiff  approached  with  a  warrant  at  last; 
Harshly  threatening  with  seizure  menagerie  en  masse, 
Exhibiting  which  he  declared  a  trespass 
On  the  laws  of  the  town,  unless  license  were  paid, 
Which  Hawkins,  per  force  without  funds,  had  delayed, — 
Nor  the  sum  so  desirable  could  he  produce; 
He  ruefully  muttered,  "The  devil's  let  loose!" 

The  bailiff  unscrupulous  seized  the  possessions, 
Unloosing  the  chains  with  the  harshest  expressions. 
The  brutes  in  their  struggles  were  terribly  rude, 
Till  the  officer's  cudgel  their  tempers  subdued. 
Then  their  keeper's  blood  boiled  as  he  powerless  gazed, 
Dispairing,  heart-broken,  stupefied  and  amazed. 

Alas,  'twas  the  drama  enacted  again, 
That  causes  mankind  at  the  fates  to  complain. 
Can  it  be,  only  heart-desolation  is  born 
Of  the  hopes  that  rise  joyous  as  lark  in  the  morn? 
Hank  Hawkins  returned  to  his  home  on  the  plains, 
Hard  by  where  the  site  of  Park  City  remains. 


THE    PRAIRIE    FIRE. 


THE  PRAIRIE  FIRE. 


\  \7 INDING  southward,  flow  two  rivers  with  a  valley 
fair  between, 

On  whose  banks  in  Autumn  twilight  clam'rous  water 
fowl  convene; 

And  their  myriads  repassing  have  abundant  gleanings 
found, 

Where  the  settler  reapt  a  harvest  from  the  generous 
yielding  ground. 

Many  a  homestead  rides  the  billow  of  the  brown  plain 
rolling  wide; 

Humble  herald  of  the  palace  brought  by  civilization's 
tide. 

Sturdy  youth  led  giant  oxen  daily  to  the  fragrant  hay, 
Reared  like  castles  heavenward  pointing,  landmarks  o'er 

the  lonely  way; 
Round  the  isolated  homestead  by  the  wild  Arkansas' 

shore, 


52  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Where  the  matron  held  dominion  and  the  frontier's  hard 
ship's  bore. 

Oli,  ye  dwellers  in  great  cities,  with  luxurious  com 
forts  blest, 

Wot  ye  of  heroic  woman  who  undaunted  tames  the 
West? 

Who  from  fortune's  wrecks  have  gathered  what  the 
whirlwind  scattered  far, 

When  misfortunes  culminating  mingled  in  commercial 
war? 


LATE  in  Autumn  youth  and  matron  looked  upon  the 
lurid  sky; 

'Mid  the  ranks  of  tall  grass  bending,  by  the  grain-fields 
rustling  nigh ; 

Heard  the  clamours  of  the  wildfowl,  numerous  sweep 
ing  overhead; 

Heard  the  grinding  from  the  manger,  where  the  beasts 
of  burden  fed; 

And  the  shrill-voiced  swine  complaining,  and  the  cack- 
1'ing  neath  the  shed. 

Tempered  by  the  fragrant  breezes,  summer's  balmy 
breath  had  past; 


THE  PRAIRIE  FIRE.  53 

Now  the  prairie's  pictured  gardens  bend  before  the  bit 
ing  blast. 

From  Sierra's  snow-clad  summit  sweeps  the  spinning  si 
moon  down, 

O'er  the  homestead's  fertile  acres  with  their  verdure 
painted  brown. 

Round  their  cot  the  prairie  ocean — by  their  plainly- 
spread  repast, 

Plans  projecting  for  the  morrow — sudden  o'er  the  valley 
cast, 

'Gainst  the  smoth'ring,  sullen  heavens  spreads  a  winding 
sable  scroll, 

'Midst  a  roar  like  surges  crashing,  or  the  rnut'ring  thun 
der's  roll. 

Smitten  with  wild  consternation  leapt  the  youth  be 
yond  the  door — 

Flashed  broad  sheets  of  flame  before  him — nearer,  loud 
er  grew  the  roar ! 

Through  the  grass-roots  firey  serpents  writhing  'neath 
dense  vapors  gleam  ! 

High  athwart  the  hot  horizon,  blood-streaked  pyramids 
of  flame 

Dance  along  the  Big  Arkansas,  eastward  o'er  her  sister 
stream ! 


54  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Conflagrations  sweep  the  dwellings  from  the  smoke- 
beclouded  lands; 

Leaping  hedgerows,  roads  and  rivers — naught  the  fear 
ful  name  withstands. 

Swiftly  sweeps  the  demon  phalanx,  like  the  dreadful  day 
of  doom, 

And  the  hot  breath,  all  devouring,  welcomes  to  a  firey 
tomb. 


On  and  onward,  redly  rolling,  lashed  to  frenzy  by  the 
blast, 

Terror-stricken  herds  pursuing,  sweep  destruction's 
surges  fast. 

See !  the  flames  sweep  through  the  grain-fields — round 
them  plays  the  lurid  light ! 

While  the  youth  and  matron  nerve  them  for  the  hot,  un 
equal  fight. 


But  the  lone  cot  stood  protected  by  the  bald  clay  beat 
en  round, 

And  the  flames  defeated  stayed  them,  neither  leapt  the 
barren  ground, 

And  the  home  stood  an  oasis  by  the  flaming  desert 
bound. 


THE  PRAIRIE  FIRE.      •  55 

Cries  of  horror  from  the  mother  drew  the  son's  gaze 

from  his  toil, 
As  the  fire-fiend's  jaws  insatiate  seize  the  granaries  for 

his  spoil ! 

Long  they  lash  the  frantic  fire,  striving  wearily  in  vain- 
Shrieks  from  shrill-voiced  swine  proceeding — fowls  are 

fiut'ring  o'er  the  plain ; 
In  wild  neighings  from  the  stable  tells  the  frantic  horse 

his  fright, 
While  the  bellowing  cattle  breaking  from  their  tethers 

speed  their  flight. 

. 
Sprang  the  youth  to  free  the  horses,  where  the  glowing 

furnace  stood, 

Heeding  not  the  choking  vapors  or  the  glowing  cotton- 
wood; 
Quick  the   mad  steed  liberated,   sped   before  the   fiery 

train — 
Terror  lends  its  wings — escaping  'mong  the  creatures  of 

the  plain; 
But  the  wild  flames  leaping  after  in  a  hot  pursuit  for 

prey, 
To  the  mustang  were  familiar,  that  before  them  darts 

away ! 
Still   the  youth  who  rescued,  lingers  'mong  the  rafters 

falling  round; 


56  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

Scorching  flames  roar  through  the  entrance  where  he 
needs  must  pass  beyond, 

And  the  smoke  that  wraps  is  smoth'ring;  and  the  flames 
are  in  his  eyes — 

Sinks  upon  the  glowing  threshold — blist'ring,  blinded. — 
Grief,  surprise 

Smite  the  mother  as  she  drags  him  from  the  hot  embrac 
ing  flame — 

O'er  the  seared  and  lifeless  body  wrought  till  animation 
came. 


DARKLY  beautiful  at  evening  when  the  flames  have  hur 
ried  by, 
Are  the  lurid  night-flres  gleaming  'gainst  the  redly-tin  tr 

ed  sky ! 

When  the  satiate  foe  retiring  from  his  desolated  track, 
Halts  at  intervals,  and  camp-fires  flash  fantastic  menace 
back  i 

Far  around  beyond  the  rivers,  the  horizon's  golden 

rim 
Glows  anon  with  gleaming  grandeur! — soon  is  veiled  in 

twilight  dim. 
Like  the  flight  of  brilliant  genius,  startling  for  a  time 

the  world — 


THE  PRAIRIE  FIRE.  57 

Wanes  the  meteors — swiftly  fading,  down  oblivion's  wa 
ters  hurled. 


FROM  the  hamlet  far  returning,  late  the  weary  settler 
came 

To  his  homestead  desolated  by  the  devastating  flame, 

To  behold  his  lonely  dwelling  looming  o'er  the  black 
ened  wild ! 

Scarce  a  vestige  of  his  garners — save  a  heap  of  ruins 
piled. 

Still  his  spirit  is  undaunted,  though  his  winter  stores  are 
burned, 

Still  his  broad  lands  spread  around  him — smiling  fields 
are  soon  returned. 

Xeighboring  settlers'  wives  and  children,  homeless, 
shiv'ring  in  the  blast, 

Hover  round  their  smould'ring  ruins  mid  the  desolation 
vast ; 

IsTor  a  vestige  e'en  remaining,  save  what  clings  about  the 
form 

Of  the  store  of  raiment  gathered,  'gainst  the  biting  win 
ter  storm. 

Yes,  'tis  well,  man  still  redeemeth  human  nature  from 
its  wrong, 


58  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

By  warm  charities  dispensing  the  unfortunate  among — 
Products  of  long  years  of  labor  swept  away — restored 

again ; 
The  frontiersman,  persevering,  builds  his  city   on  the 

plain. 


THE  CARNIVAL 


OF  DEATH. 


This  poem,  with  the  shorter  ones  that  immediately  follow, 
the  scene  of  which  was  Newton,  record  but  the  facts ;  as  the 
settlers  of  that  now  flourishing  city  can  testify. 


THE  CARNIVAL  OF   DEATH 


PART  I. 

NEWTON. — THE  TEXANS. 

5,  hardy  pioneers  who  dared 
To  brave  the  western  wild, 
And  these  broad  prairies  early  shared 

With  nature's  swarthy  child, 
And  hear  this  faithful  history 
Of  Newton,  by  the  Santa  Fe. 

Wild  nature's  prairies,  broad  and  fair, 

Unbroken  by  the  steel, 
Rich  as  Euphrates'  valleys  were, 

Their  treasures  would  reveal 
To  hearts  heroic  here  to  come, 
Possess  the  land,  and  rear  a  home. 


62  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

The  railroad  pierced  the  prairies  green ; — 

Topeka  saw  begun 
The  gleaming  line  to  lav  between 

The  Mexic  mountains  dun ; 
Vast  riches  to  convey  afar 
From  where  the  hoof-trod  llanos  are. 

The  shrieking  engine  swift  conveys 

Vast  multitudes  who  spread 
Far  west  and  south,  through  lengthening  ways, 

Plodding  with  ceaseless  tread  ; 
Their  couch  but  nature's  green,  until 
They  rear  their  rustic  domicile. 

The  sturdy  smith  smote  clanging  bar, 

The  craftsman  rattled  loud, 
Broad  cities  rose,  and  gleaming  far 

Stands  many  a  village  proud, 
Where  huge-horned  oxen  haul  their  load 

O 

From  thrifty  squatter's  thatched  abode. 


was  born  amid  the  storms 
Of  conflicts'  fiercest  blows ; 

midnight  hush  heard  wild  alarms. 

o 

Where  friends  were  turned  to  foes, 


THE  CARNIVAL  OF  DEATH.  63 

Whose  desp'rate  deeds  of  blood  forbid 
From  daylight's  searching  sun  were  hid. 

Ah  !  'twas  a  sanguinary  place, 

Where  roughs  their  revels  kept; 
Whose  outcast  crew — a  daring  race, 

While  good  men  sweetly  slept, — 
Broke  midnight's  silent  solitude 
With  orgies  riotous  and  rude ! 

Her  blood-stained  cemetery  proclaims 

Of  darkly  dreadful  deeds; 
Rude  head-boards  oft  record  their  names 

On  whom  the  coyote  feeds, 
Who  fell  beneath  the  crimson  hand, 
Before  the  law  redeemed  the  land. 

Here  Texas  sent  her  myriad  herds, 

With  daring  drovers,  wild, 
And  reckless  as  the  world  affords; — 

In  frequent  fray  embroiled; 
A  hardy  horde  in  wildness  reared, 
Whose  gold  was  sought,  whose  passions  feared. 

To  spur  the  steed  in  hottest  nice, 
When  stampede  larums  the  herd; 


64  SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST. 

To  throw  the  lasso  in  the  chase, 

While  llanos  broad  are  scoured, 
Fulfill  the  sum  of  arts  pursued 
BY  Texan  herder,  fierce  and  rude. 

He  knows  no  law,  obeys  no  creed, 
And  where  the  clime  that  can 

Produce  such  race  for  daring  deed — 
Whose  spirit  spurns  the  ban 

Of  civilization, — whose  true  reign 

Is  o'er  the  herd,  the  steed,  the  plain? 

But  chivalrous  lie  is,  and  true, 

When  on  his  native  plain, 
Would  his  last  morsel  share  with  you, 

'  Till  wine  has  fired  his  brain; 
Then  hot  blood's  brawling  oaths  are  heard, 
His  friend  is  slain  at  slightest  word  I 


ALONG  the  trail,  with  trampling  hoof, 
And  whoop  and  yell  they  came; 

'Shrewd  Newton  vouchsafes  no  reproof — 
She  claims  the  gilded  game — 


THE    CARNIVAL    OF    DEATH.  65 

For,  e'er  he  quits  her  streets  again, 
Nor  coins  in  Texan's  purse  remain. 

His  jingling  spurs  with  ceaseless  clang, 

The  pave  beneath  him  pelt ; 
Two  murd'rous  pistols  ever  hang 

Suspended  from  his  belt. 
The  play  holds  o'er  him  close  control,— 
In  game  of  chance  would  stake  his  soul ! 

They  stroll  the  streets  a  roist'rous  route, 

Aflush  with  liquid  flame  ; — 
I  wot,  their  wild,  defiant  shout 

Proclaims  no  spirit  tame, 
As  each  upon  his  charger  leaps, 
And  through  the  town  like  whirlwind  sweeps! 

Nor  fleeter  may  the  mustang  speed 

Athwart  the  grassy  main, 
Than  rides  this  reckless  renegade, 

That  laws  would  bind  in  vain, 
Through  Newton's  streets  with  yell  and  whoop, 
With  wild,  demoniacal  troop  ! 


66  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


PART  II. 


THE   AVENGER. 

TV/TID  Mexic'  scenes  where  Rio  Grande 

Her  shining  bound'ry  rolls, 
Where  horn  and  hoof  possess  the  land 

The  ranchman's  wealth  controls, 
There  dwelt,  where  wide  the  waters  flow, 
The  daughter  of  the  ranchero. 

Perfection's  round  sy  metric  form 

N"orita  fair  possessed ; 
Her  moulded  beauty's  magic  charm 

Health's  fairest  glow  caressed, 
Whose  warm  life  current's  richer  glow 
Was  from  old  Spain  and  Mexico. 

Impulsive,  ardent  when  she  loves, 

Her  hatred  burns  the  same; — 
Black  eyes  burn  fierce,  when  anger  moves — 


THE    CARNIVAL    OF    DEATH.  67 

Beware  their  deadly  flame ! 
Maid  of  her  clime  knows  nought  of  fear, 
And  holds  a  lover's  life — how  dear  ? 


Should  her  loved  idol  fall  before 

Some  furious  foeman's  hand, 
Vengeance  is  swift — her  soul's  at  war — 

See  Mexic's  maiden  stand  ! — 
Swift  flash  the  dagger's  deadly  blows  ! 
That  small  white  hand  deals  death  to  foes  ! 


Friend  of  her  youth,  Norita  long 

Heard  Riley's  fervent  vow; 
Since  childhood's  day  they  strayed  among 

These  scenes  ;  and  she,  e'en  now, 
Would  list  ofttimes  with  downcast  eyes, 
Yet  held  him  hopeless  of  the  prize. 

His  sweet  guitar's  soft  serenade 

Norita  near  him  drew ; 
All  tender  tones  to  charm  the  maid 

His  skilf ull  fingers  knew ; 
With  him  she  sought — true  Spanish  girl — 
The  wild  fandango's  mazy  whirl. 


SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

But  hers  was  as  a  sister's  love, 

Or  light  as  friend  of  youth ; 
Nor  knew  the  tender  spell  to  move 

To  life's  enduring  truth; 
Yet  't  was  the  light  of  Biley's  heart, 
But  born  to  bring  life's  bitterest  smart. 

Her  hand  had  saved  his  life, — one  morn, 

Enraged,  the  lord  of  herds 
Tossed  him  on  high  with  goreing  horn — 

She  heard  his  calling  words; — 
With  lasso  thrown,  securely  tied, 
She  forced  the  maddened  brute  aside. 

A  life's  devotion,  Eiley  vowed  ; 

His  steadfast  soul  ne'er  turned; 
To  its  fond  idol  mutely  bowed, 

While  fires  consuming  burned; 
Sworn  to  repay — with  life  he  would — 
That  kindly  deed  of  hardihood. 

Clusky  the  trader  came  to  woo 
The  black-eyed  Mexic  maid ; 

He  won  her  heart ;  his  vows  were  true  ; 
Soon  with  his  bride  he  strayed 


THE    CARNIVAL    OF    DEATH.  69 

With  giant  herds  to  Newton's  mart, 
Well  skilled  in  thrifty  trader's  art. 


Now  Newton's  day  of  turmoil  came ; 

Her  people  must  decide 
To  lay  the  steel,  or  loose  their  fame, 

And  view  the  iron  glide 
To  Wichita,  that  burned  to  grasp 
The  ringing  rail  with  vig'rous  clasp. 

The  day  ope'd  stormy  with  debate  ; 

Contention  ruled  the  hour ; 
And  Bailey  bore  the  badge  of  state — 

Bold  herdsman — proud  of  power 
To  quell  the  gath'ring  riot,  when 
Madness  should  rule  the  minds  of  men, 


Wine  flows  in  torrents — many  a  blow 

By  sturdy  brawler  dealt, 
Lays  clam'rous  opponent  full  low 

By  argument  he  felt; 

When  twilight  gloomed  the  brawling  scene, 
Men  maudlin  moved  with  murd'rous  mien. 


70  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Bailey  might  not  resist  the  bowl ; — 
That  eve  't  was  deeply  drained; 

Its  demon  gained  complete  control; 
His  mission  was  disdained 

By  murd'rous  rage — the  guardian  made 

To  force  the  law — nor  law  obeyed  ! 

Quick  Clusky  came,  and  strove  for  peace,-— 

Hot  words  in  anger  rose ; 
But  while  he  bade  the  turmult  cease, 

Swift  through  the  thronging  foes 
Flashed  Bailey's  weapon  ! — by  his  breast 

The  whistling  lead  flew  harmless  past. 

I 

His  Texan  foe  well  Clusky  knew 

Stood  thirsting  for  his  life ; 
Quick  as  the  ball  that  by  him  flew, 

Prepared  for  deadly  strife — 
Fierce  flashed  his  splendid  weapons  round, 
And  Bailey's  life-blood  stained  the  ground. 

The  treach'rous  Texans  of  the  plain, 

Amid  their  revels  swore 
They'd  never  seek  the  trail  again 

Till  Clusky  breathed  no  more — 


THE    CARNIVAL    OF    DEATH.  71 

Exultant  o'er  their  plot  they  grew — 

"  Vengeance  ! — his  hand  a  comrade  slew !  " 

The  snare  is  set,  the  hour  is  near, 

In  secret  all  have  vowed, 
Before  the  midnight  moon  appear, 

Clusky  shall  wear  his  shroud ! — 
By  vengeful  violence  shall  die 
Where  dancers  meet,  when  mirth  is  high  ! 

The  fearless  trader  laughed  at  those 

Who,  warning,  sought  to  save  ; 
In  daring  hardihood  he  chose 

The  servile  foe  to  brave — 
Intimidated — he  afraid  ? 
Not  though  ten  thousand  plots  were  laid ! 


Music  and  mirth  are  mingling  in 
The  hall,  where  lamps  are  bright; 

And  feet  trip  lightly  mid  the  din 
Where  revel  rules  the  night  ; — 

Bright  beauty  beams  with  laughing  eye, 

Her  charms  adorned  in  rivalry. 


72  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

The  music  ceased — at  Clusky's  side 

His  pensive  bride  reclines  : 
She  little  dreams  what  ills  betide 

Where  wine  with  pleasure  shines ; 
How  brilliant  ball-room's  robes  of  snow 
With  life-blood's  ruddy  stains  shall  glow  ! 

The  trader's  gaze  on  that  glad  throng 

Rests  in  abstracted  mood ; 
He  heeds  them  not  who  whirl  along 

And  on  his  dreams  intrude  ; 
E'en  now,  mid  gaiety  and  life, 
Thought  teems  with  speculation  rife. 

With  sudden  start  on  her  he  gazed, 
Whose  small  hand  pressed  his  arm ; 

Whose  full  dark  eyes  expressive  raised, 
Were  beaming  full  and  warm ; 

Long  lashes  drooping  dark  enhance 

The  power  of  softest  pleading  glance. — 

"  Come,  let  us  from  this  place  away ; 

Nought  is  there  here  can  fill 
My  heart  with  cheerfulness — why  stay 

With  these  forebodings  ill  ? 


THE    CARNIVAL    OF    DEATH.  73 

Say,  shall  we  go  ?  Oh,  well  I  know 
You'll  not  deny  me — may  we  go  ?  " 

"  Norita,  stay — I  fain  would  learn 

Whom  yon  sombrero  wears ; 
Him  I  have  met ; — I  must  discern 

If  there  be  cause  for  fears ; — 
If  'tis  his  face,  should  that  be  he, 
Prepare  for  basest  treachery. 

"  A  time  in  Arizona's  mine, 

By  thronging  foes  beset, 
I  saw  a  friendly  dagger  shine, 

With  life-blood  dripping  wet, 
Which  vanished  with  returning  peace, 
But  not  till  I  saw  Kiley's  face ! 

"  My  chiefest  foe  is  here  to-night, 

Whom  I  rejoiced  as  slain 
By  Riley's  hand,  in  that  fierce  fight, 

Among  the  miner  train. — 
Wait  but  for  briefest  moment  here 
Till  this  gay  throng  the  way  shall  clear." 
***** 

Two  eyes  that  glow  like  living  coals, 
Dart  deadly  gleams  of  hate, 


74  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

As  though  the  throng  that  visage  scowls 

Above  them  while  they  wait — 
Clusky  beholds,  and  nerves  for  strife, 
For  now  he  knows  'tis  life  for  life. 

"  Carrambo,  Clusky  !  Riley's  care 
Finished  your  foe,  you  thought ; 

The  tables  turned  ; — fair  fortune  here 
This  fit  occasion  brought — 

Vengeance  is  mine  ! — your  forfeit  soul 

Flits  e'er  you  full  moon  higher  roll !  " 

The  ruffian's  sneering  accents  fall 
Harsh  grating,  hoarse  and  low ; 

Bold  threats  brave  Clusky  ne'er  appall — 
His  weapons  front  his  foe — 

"  Assassin,  you  should  know  me  well ! 

Th^t  boast  your  own  fate  shall  impel ! 

"  Beware !  red-handed  Anderson ! 

A  fitting  instrument 
The  Texans  found — Have  you  begun 

With  murderous  intent? 
You  prate  of  death ! — draw  first  and  fire  !- 
Receive  my  lead  for  all  your  ire! " 


THE   CARNIVAL   OF   DEATH.  75 

A  harmless  flash !  The  shrieking  girl 

Clings  close  to  Clusky's  form ; 
Holds  vice-like  while  his  foe  would  hirl 

Away  each  circling  arm. — 
Through  Clusky's  neck  the  bullet  sped ; 
The  foe  received  his  answering  lead. 

The  fair  avenger's  jeweled  hand 

Her  gleaming  dagger  drew 
To  late  that  dear  life  to  defend — 

Norita's  steel  was  true, — 
Deep  buried  in  the  murd'rer's  side, 
Who  breathed  one  heavy  sigh  and  died. 

Reigned  wild  confusion — strife  begun, 

A  vengeful  tigress  she — 
The  fair,  the  daring,  desperate  one 

Deals  terror  while  they  flee  ! 
With  weapons  swiftly  aimed,  and  true, 
Forbearance  she  is  stranger  to. 

Norita's  frenzy  fierce  defies 

The  Texan  foemen  all ; 
Above  her  loved  one's  form  that  lies 

Low  in  the  fatal  hall ; 


76  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

While  echoed  her  defiant  wail, 
A  stranger  entered  from  the  trail ! 

He  strode  across  the  threshold  red, 
With  weapons  fiercely  clenched ; 

His  dark  eye  gleams  on  Clusky  dead, 
In  gory  garments  drenched — 

Two  weapons  flashed  their  deadly  breath ! 

Two  herdsmen  sank  and  writhed  in  death  ! 

And  Texan  after  Texan  falls 

Neath  Riley's  fearful  aim. — 
Fierce  flies  his  shower  of  deadly  balls, 

In  terror's  gory  game. 
Still  the  destroyer's  gleaming  eye 
Demands  its  victims — see  them  die  ! 

Oh  !  horrid  view  !  confusion  reigns, 
As  from  the  casement  springs 

The  stricken  wretch,  who  trembling  gains 
This  haven. — Sharply  rings 

Those  ruthless  weapons ! — wounded,  dying, 

Twelve  gory  forms  all  starkly  lying ! 


Norita's  gaze  met  Eiley's  eyes, 
And  starting  in  that  look, 


THE    CARNIVAL    OF    DEATH.  77 

O'er  coming  frenzied  grief,  surprise, 

Her  frame  convulsive  shook  — 
In  deed,  in  danger  had  they  met, 
might  she  e'er  that  vow  forget. 


"  Whence  come  you  at  this  hideous  hour?" 

Her  quiv'ring  accents  broke  ? 
He  is  avenged  —  your  murd'rous  shower 

Of  bullets  madly  spoke  ! 
But,  oh!  too  late,  alas!  to  save  — 
Who  shall  compose  him  for  the  grave  ?  " 

"  I  must  !  —  my  vow  avenged  his  death  — 

Shall  save  your  precious  life  ; 
I  will  defend  with  latest  breath  — 

Quick  !  —  flee  this  hideous  strife  ! 
Come,  fly  with  me  this  scene  of  blood  ! 
Already  we  too  long  have  stood." 

She  threw  her  form  upon  her  dead, 

But  placidly  and  pale 
That  face  reposed  ;  —  she  raised  his  head; 

Her  fond  caresses  fail 
To  wake  from  those  still  lips  a  sound, 
Though  arms  of  love  he  clasped  around. 


78  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST, 

She  shed  no  tear  o'er  love  avenged — 
Long  looked  and  sighed — "  Away  !  " 

*  #  *  *  #  # 

Death's  gory  feast  was  well  arranged 
E'er  dawned  the  morning  grey ! — 
Hard  by,  in  Newton's  graveyard  drear, 
The  Texan's  grassy  graves  appear. 

Ha  !  't  was  a  blood-stained  funeral, 
The  drooping  herdsmen  made, 

As  bending  o'er  the  crimson  pall, 
Dark-visaged  mourners  laid 

Each  lifeless  comrade  neath  the  sod, 

Who  nevermore  the  llanos  trod. 


LORA. 


LORA. 


A    BLISSFUL  time  was  Lora's  life, 

Where  vernal  beauties  bloom  ; 
Secluded  far  from  civic  strife, 

In  peaceful  prairie  home ; 
Where  blushing  with  the  tinted  flower 
Her  carol  lightly  cheered  the  hour. 

A  ghoul  strayed  o'er  the  prairie  far 
In  chase  with  hound  and  gun  ; 

He  saw  the  wild  flower  blooming  there, 
Where  easily  was  won 

With  blandishments  and  artful  wile 

The  trustful  heart  that  knew  no  guile. 

Her  wealth  of  love  on  him  bestowed, 
Who  knew  well  how  to  please, 

Sweet  Lora's  soul  with  rapture  glowed 
Pure  as  the  balmy  breeze — 


82  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Enchanted  day !  oh,  hallowed  time ! 
Dispeled  delusion  ! — woe  and  crime  ! 

The  sympathetic  tear  shall  start. 

Wrung  by  the  touching  tale 
Warm  from  the  crushed  and  bleeding  heart 

Of  lovely  Lora  pale  ; 
Whose  joys  were  as  the  glassy  stream, 
Till  currents  dark  destroy  its  gleam. 

He  told  of  dear  delights  of  home. 
Beguiled  that  truthful  trust — 

Oh !  could  dishonor  to  her  come, 
And  man  betray  the  best, 

And  leave  love  in  its  agony, 

That  would  have  perished  e'en  for  thee  ? 

Alas  !  like  nightshade's  deadly  blight 
Enwrapped  in  pleasing  guise, 

The  poison  lay,  e'er  yet  the  night 
Obscured  the  brightest  skies : — 
*          The  charmer's  gauzy  web  was  flung 

In  plighted  vow  and  honied  tongue* 

Unhappy  one !  Jt  were  vain  to  tell 
What  lured  thee  from  thy  nest;- — 


LOEA.  83 

A  lie,  a  promise,  and  thou  fell — 

Believing  thou  wert  blest. 
Oblivion's  mantle  soon  shall  fall 
O'er  woes  that  tenderest  hopes  appal. 

Life's  hope  is  gone,  that  peaceful  cot, 

And  rapturous  kiss  of  love; 
Sweet  girl,  thine  unexpected  lot — 

A  scene  where  horror  wove 
Her  pall  of  anguish  round  thine  heart, 
So  foully  wronged — thy  woes  are  short. 

Grief  gnawed  the  crushed  and  bleeding  heart, 

Deserted  in  its  pain  ; 
The  worm  wrought  ceasely  to  part 

Cords  ne'er  to  knit  again ; 
Full  soon,  the  spirit  stands  at  bay, 
And  nature  bids  her  child  away. 

How  small  and  white  the  lilly  hand 

The  deadly  dagger  turned 
Toward  that  pure  bosom,  where  the  brand 

Of  lewdness  never  burned  ? 
Now  all  the  light  of  life  is  flown  ; 
Dispair  the  crowning  deed  has  done. 


84  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Bright  gleams  the  steel,  descends  the  knife, 

Athirst  for  crimson  drink ; 
Warmed  in  that  fair  young  bosom's  life, 

Poised  on  death's  mystic  brink — 
They  laidlier  on  the  blood-stained  bier, 
Cold  hearts  and  only  strangers  near. 

He  came  again  e'er  Lora  died  ; — 

Swift  retribution  then 
Brought  the  destroyer  to  her  side 

To  fix  her  barb  within 
The  craven  soul  of  him  who  stole 
Her  young  life's  happiness — her  all. 

The  spirit  trembles  on  the  verge 

Of  time,  so  nearly  flown ; 
As  from  death's  shades  the  soul  to  urge. 

Those  orbs  turn  to  his  own — 
'Tis  ended — and  the  look  she  gave 
Haunts  the  destroyer  to  his  grave. 

Oh !  pure  as  evening's  silver  dew ! 

So  pale,  so  innocent ; 
Health  gave  her  rarest  rosy  hue, 

E'er  thy  young  heart  was  rent; 


LORA.  85 

For  thou  wert  formed  for  nature's  bower, 
Sweet  Lora,  crushed  and  perished  flower. 

The  lark  will  caroll  o'er  thy  tomb, 

The  midnight  wind  shall  moan ; 
The  fragrant  wild  rose  here  shall  bloom, 

So  beautiful  and  lone — 
Where  art  thou  gone?  oh,  spirit  fair  ? 
For  only  dust  reposeth  there  ! 

Where  shines  the  pale  moon  calmly  on, 

When  night  obscures  the  plain, 
They  laid  the  form  of  Lora  down 

Beneath  the  grassy  main  ; 
Where  willows  weep  neath  Luna's  rays, 
Where  coyote  roams  and  marmot  plays. 


FRAGMENTS   FROM 


NEWTON. 


THE  COACHMAN  OF  THE 
MOUNTAINS. 


A  L  SHATTUC  drove  the  Denver  stage 

Along  the  mountain  steep ; 
Like  lightning  by  the  chasm's  edge, 

Ten  thousand  fathom  deep  ; 
While  whistling  whip  he  fearless  played, 
And  urged  his  leaders  undismayed. 

The  ambushed  savage  strove  to  hold 

His  passengers  a  prey, 
But  Shattuc  kept,  with  spirit  bold, 

The  wiley  foe  at  bay  ; 
And  sped  unscathed  and  fearless  through, 
Through  dangers  crowded  on  his  view  ! 

He  stood  a  hero  'mong  the  clan 
Of  daring,  hardy  souls ; 


90  SONGS    OP   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Excelled  them  all  in  skill — a  man 

A  generous  heart  controlls ; 
Ambitious  that  each  hardy  steed 
Should  all  things  fast  in  fleetness  lead. 

Wild  Colorado's  mountain  step 
Loud  echoed  neath  the  tread 

Of  flying  steeds  that  swiftly  swep 
Like  torrent  o'er  its  bed 

Of  gleaming  cliffs  and  channeled  rocks 

Whose  voice  the  crashing  thunder  mocks ! 

The  perils  of  the  mountain  road 

Are  all  in  safety  past ; 
The  skulking  savage's  abode 

Has  sunk  from  sight  at  last ; 
For  Al.  has  found  an  easy  drive 
Where  prairie  hamlets  rise  and  thrive. 

From  Newton  to  young  Wichita, 
Through  Sedgwick  fair  he  sped ; 

They  praised  his  greys  who  wondering  saw 
His  high  vehicle  red, 

That  o'er  the  prairie  winding  glides 

While  travelers  peer  from  latticed  sides. 


THE   COACHMAN   OP   THE   MOUNTAINS.  91 

Al.  Shattuc  mounted  as  of  yore, 

Behind  six  prancing  steeds, 
Strikes  toward  his  leader  far  before, 

That  little  urging  needs, — 
A  spring ! — o'erturned ! — Al's  mid  the  crash ! 
Dragged  neath  those  hoofs  that  madly  dash ! 

Crushed  neath  his  stage's  ponderous  wheels, 

A  writhing  mass  he  lay ; 
Death  o'er  those  palid  features  steals — 

He  perished  with  the  day : — 
"  By  Mary's  grave  there  let  me  lie." 
He  said,  and  closed  his  eyes  to  die. 

True  hero !  in  thy  calling  brave ! 

Oh  !  daring,  early  dead  ! 
A  tribute  lies  upon  thy  grave 

From  one  who  with  thee  sped, 
Through  labyrinths  of  wilderness, 
Whose  verse  thy  prowess  would  confess. 


MARSHAL  KING. 


THE  DANCE  HOUSE. 


1  X  rHERE  yonder  light  with  ruddy  glow 

Shoots  its  seductive  ray, 
The  dance-house  stands  with  gable  low, 

And  glaring  frontal  gay ; 
And  stirring  strains  of  music  float 
From  vioPs  chord  and  bugle  throat 

Here  frailty  holds  high  carnival ; — 

Unenviable  fame ! 
And  deeds  that  purity  appall 

Do  cling  about  her  name, 
Whose  light  admirers,  warmly  gay 
Ribaldry's  flagrant  jests  essay. 


94  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

There  may  be  seen  seductive  mien ; — 
From  haunts  of  pleasure  near, 

Voluptuaries  fair  convene 
And  smile  as  they  appear  ; 

Till  revelers  attendant  there, 

Charmed  hy  the  nymphs,  led  captive  are. 

The  lamps  glow  brightly  over  all, 

And  stirring  music  swells  ; 
The  mazy  dance  whirls  through  the  hall, 

And  loud-voiced  mirth  impells ; 
And  clasped  I  wot  full  amorously 
Are  zones  of  sculptured  symmetry. 

The  wild  voluptuous  dance  proceeds, 
The  wild'ring  wine  is  poured, 

And  each  his  flushed  companion  leads 
Beside  the  banquet  board ; 

Where  passions  dread  assume  their  reign ; 

"While  madness  rules  the  burning  brain. 

The  ready  daggers  gleam  below 
The  broad  belts  of  the  crew ; 

Fair  woman  oft  is  decked,  I  trow, 
With  murd'rous  weapons,  too ! 


MARSHAL  KING. — THE  DANCE  HOUSE.          95 

Ah,  me !  when  erring  beauty  strays, 

What  power  shall  curb,  what  guide  her  ways  ? 


ABOUT  the  hall  the  lamps  were  bright; 

And  painted  beauty  shed 
Its  artificial  charm  that  night, 

When  riot  raised  its  head  ! 
King  came  when  rose  wine's  wild  alarms ; 
Demanding  men  resign  their  arms ! 

Defiant  Edwards  fiercely  drew 

The  weapon  at  his  belt; 
His  eye  along  the  barrel  threw, 

And  death's  dread  pangs  were  felt, 
By  daring  King  who  strove  for  law, 
Whose  thronging  friends  fieet  vengeance  vow. 

It  well  behooved  the  slayer,  then, 

To  mount  in  hottest  haste, — 
Ride  fleetly  forth  with  might  and  main, 

By  eager  hundreds  chased ; 
And  swift  as  speeds  the  prairie  gale, 
He  shot  like  arrow  o'er  the  trail ! 


96  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

What  charger  might  overtake  him  there  ? 

Fool's  folly  'twere  to  come  ! 
As  well  pursue  the  viewless  air, 

As  Edwards  toward  that  home 
Which  he  in  safety  fleetly  found 
Unscathed,  to  roam  on  Texan  ground ! 

Poor  King !  too  well  your  mournful  end 
Is  through  the  region  known  ; 

Sure  retribution  shall  attend, 
With  fury's  fiercest  frown, 

The  hand  that  slew  where  duty  called, 

The  trust  that  danger  ne'er  appalled. 


RUIN! 


«  MERCHANT'S  EXCHANGE,"  the  building 

bore 

In  lettering  broad  and  plain; 
The  mien  its  dark  frequenters  wore, 
Proclaimed  them  men  who  deign 
To  sink  a  name,  risk  life,  and  swim 
Through  seas  of  blood  in  calling  grim. 

Bill  Dow  knew  how  to  lay  the  plot 

That 'lured  the  Texan  in, 
And  few  might  enter  there  and  not 

Observe  his  wager  win; 
Save  when  for  mere  delusion,  he 
Lost  through  his  own  chicanery. 

The  trustful  rustic  left  his  claim 

With  heavy  laden  van  ; 
Returned  with  neither  cash  nor  team, 

A  poorer,  wiser  man  ; 


98  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

For  he  had  left  his  hard-earned  cash 
Where  Newton's  spiders  wove  their  mesh, 

Ambitious  Dow  his  victim  drew 

By  hand  of  music,  placed 
Upon  pretentious  stage  in  view 

Of  passers  by,  who  gazed 
Upon  the  fair  display  within, 
Nor  probed  the  schemer's  device  thin. 

When  once  he  entered  there — alack ! 

A  lamb  well  shorn  he  was 
By  that  rough  gang,  who  sent  him  back 

A  mourner  with  good  cause — 
In  poverty  to  curse  the  scheme, 
That  thus  beguiled  him  of  his  team. 

The  keeper  of  the  den  was  known 
Well  through  the  broad  Southwest; 

The  herdsmen  of  the  trail  had  grown 
Familiar  with  the  pest ; 

For  minions  who  had  little  reck 

Of  consequence  came  at  his  beck. 

You  might  perceive  from  morn  till  eve. 
The  Texan  herder  ride ; 


RUIN.  99 

Hard  by,  secured  with  lasso,  leave 
His  steed,  his  wealth  and  pride, 
To  deal  in  game  for  which  he  burned, 
Well  picked,  perchance,  e'er  he  returned. 


THE  GOLD  ROOM — noted  gambling  den- 
Doc.  Thayer  long  had  kept ; 

About  him  gathered  desp'rate  men, 
Whose  vigilance  ne'er  slept, 

But  diligently  plied  their  trade — 

A  fortune  lost — as  quickly  made. 

Doc.  Thayer  was  a  compound  strange 

Of  what  was  bad  and  good ; 
Remorseful  pangs  unhid  would  range, 

And  on  his  soul  intrude ; 

Though  good  thoughts  flew  with  fleetest  wings, 
DQC.  reverenced  religious  things  ! 

i 
He  brought  the  preacher,  who  was  heard 

Amid  the  jingling  gold  ; 
"Beyond  the  bar  was  preached  the  "  word," 

With  precepts  good  and  old ; 


100  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

When  the  collection  hat  went  round, 
Rich  recompense  was  ready  found. 

Where  glittering^games  of  chance  were  spread, 

Mock-auction,  monte,  keno, 
And  each  its  willing  victims  bled 

Round  mystic  tables  green — Oh  ! 
How  well  hoodwinked  was  rustic  eye, 
Weak  plaything  of  grim  destiny. 


THE  SCORGE  OF  LOCUSTS. 


settler,  wearied  with  his  toils, 
Exulting  scanned  his  fair  domain  ; 
Dreamed  of  vast  harvests,  when  rich  spoils 
Of  giant  fruits  and  golden  grain 
Should  pile  his  garner's  plenteous  stores 
When  Boreas  through  the  valley  roars; 

Dreamed  o'er  improvements  for  the  land, 
Late  wrested  from  wild  nature's  hold; 
Of  new  enclosures  ; — fancy  planned 
A  domicile  that  should  enfold 
His  babes  with  greater  comfort ;  then 
His  eye  fell  on  the  fields  again. 

Like  Egypt's  devastating  cloud, 
Came  down  the  locusts — hungry  host! 
That  morn,  green  waved  plantations  broad, 


102  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

That  eve  their  verdure  all  was  lost ! 

Wherever  vegetation  grew 

The  hope  destroying  myriads  flew! 

Their  flights  eclipse  the  sun  with  grey, 
Their  myriad  legions  ride  the  gale  ; 
The  seorge  descends,  and  still  they  stay 
Till  hunger  desolates  the  vale ; 
Grim  Famine's  ghastly  face  appears, 
With  infant  moans  and  woman's  tears. 

But  man"  has  grown  humane  to  man, 
And  from  his  plenteous  garners  piled, 
The  philanthropic  current  ran 
With  plenty  for  the  settler's  child ; 
And  the  succeeding;  year  restored 

£5    */ 

Ten  fold  what  fed  that  insect  horde! 


DAWNING  DAY. 


^THROUGH  red'ning  clouds  that  westward  roll, 

The  dawning  daylight  peers, 
To  cheer  the  steadfast  settler's  soul, 

Proclaiming  peaceful  years; 
His  children  throng  the  busy  halls, 
Where  learning's  voice  to  wisdom  calls. 

The  hamlet  long  the  lawless  home 

Of  mad,  marauding  men, 
Allures  the  tradesman  ;  craftsmen  come 

And  all  the  arts  begin, 
With  industries  of  lawful  trade — 
Eject  the  wilhom  race  dismayed. 

Young  men  and  maidens,  and  a  bride 

Trod  Newton's  crimson  ground ; 
Bennett  had  for  his  sweetheart  sighed ; 


104  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Far  journeying  east,  he  found 
Devoted  love  prepared  to  come 
And  make  these  ruder  scenes  her  home. 

How  brilliant  were  the  lamps  that  night 
In  Bentley's  mansion,  where 

Amid  a  scene  of  mirth  and  light 
Was  Bennett's  bride,  so  fair  ? 

There,  from  rude  cabins,  many  a  dame 

To  greet  the  bridal  party  came. 

Now  peaceful  Newton  calmly  sits, 
ISTor  recks  of  shriek  and  blood, 

That  larmed  her  night:  for,  oh  !  she  quits 
Her  sanguinary  mood; 

And  her  broad  prairies,  rolling  far, 

Gemmed  o'er  with  many  a  cottage  are. 


CAME  soon  the  sturdy  Mennonite 
From  Russia's  far-off  shore; 

Looked  far  around  with  wild  delight 
And  sought  to  roam  no  more  ; 

For,  this  fail-  realm  could  realize 

His  wildest  dreams  of  paradise ! 


DAWNING   DAY.  105 

Where  his  quaint  structures  dot  the  plain, 

He  prunes  the  fruitful  vine  ; — 
Abodes  of  peace  !  Ah !  not  in  vain 

Was  crossed  the  treach'rous  brine! 
Here  wealth  awaits,  'tis  his  to  seek 
With  land  possessed  in  many  a  league. 

Small  need  has  he  for  civic  courts  ; 

His  calm,  unruffled  life, 
The  non-combative  code  supports, 

His  creed  forbidding  strife. 
Here  conscience-favoring  laws  decree, 
From  war-like  arts  he  shall  be  free. 


DEATH  OF 


PRESIDENT  LINCOLN. 


DEATH  OF  PRESIDENT  LINCOLN. 


Al/'IDE  o'er  the  land  there  comes  a  voice  of  wail ! 

Why  swells  man's  heart? — why  woman's  cheek 

so  pale  ? 

Dejected  nature's  gloomy  shadow  holds 
The  sombre  earth  draped  in  her  pensive  folds ; 
Sadly  the  night-winds  whisper  with  a  sigh 
That  name  beloved,  that  name  not  borne  to  die  ! 
A  mighty  name !  to  loyal  hearts  how  dear  ? 
'Tis  one  the  traitor  trembling  dreads  to  hear. 
Time's  greatest  nation  mourns  her  chiefest  pride, 
And  weeps  convulsive  for  a  friend  and  guide. — 
Hark ! — the  slow  knell  that  shakes  the  troubled  air 
With  notes  of  woe,  that  tell  of  shroud  and  bier  ! — 
The  infant  voice,  the  broken  tones  of  age, 
Shall  pause  to  weep  above  the  shrouded  page. 
Alas  !  his  day  too  soon  on  earth  was  done  ; 
Columbia  weeps  her  greatest,  noblest  son. 


110  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Nor  court  intrigues  e'er  warped  his  love  of  truth, 
Life's  virtues  claimed  his  manhood  as  his  youth; 
It  ne'er  was  his  the  battle-blade  to  wield, 
The  senate  called  him  louder  than  the  field  ; 
He  swayed  no  scepter,  and  he  wore  no  crown, 
Though  envious  monarchs  sought  as  high  renown; 
Greater  than  king  who  reigns  above  the  slave, 
Is  chosen  chief  to  guide  the  free  and  brave. 

Through  all  thine  acts  a  kindly  nature  shone ; 
The  pardoned  many  mourn  the  statesman  gone. 
Like  Amram's  son  to  serfs  thou  freedom  gave; 
More  abject  than  Old  Egypt's  Hebrew  slave. 
Scourged  for  long  ages  over  Southern  soil, 
Groaning  and  bent  to  unrequited  toil, 
I^or  bonds  of  kindred,  woman's  pleading  tear, 
Might  sway  the  soul  of  tyrant  overseer. 
Long  may  the  sons  of  Afric's  sable  race, 
Shrined  in  each  heart,  give  thy  name  deferend  place. 
Hot  teeth  of  blood  hounds  now  no  more  they  fear ; 
Their  clanking  chains  have  ceased  to  larm  the  ear; 
The  lash  has  ceased  dread  tortures  to  prolong, 
Sure  vengeance  finds  the  workers  of  their  wrong. 

The  fiag  went  down  that  shadowed  o'er  the  hordes 
That  fled  before  the  northern  legion's  swords  : — 


DEATH    OF    PRESIDENT    LINCOLN.  Ill 

\ 

When  wond'rous  glory  had  the  nation  won, 

When  clouds  had  vanished  from  the  nation's  sun, 

When  were  consigned  to  many  an  unknown  grave, 

Sons  of  the  North,  the  valliant !  the  brave ! 

Staid  was  the  hand  of  devastating  war, 

That  spread  destruction  through  the  land  afar; 

Pealed  the  glad  notes! — rejoicing  bell  was  heard; — 

"  Peace  !  " — was  the  cry, — "  A  nation  saved  !  "  the  word. 

Alas  !  too  soon,  the  loud-rejoicing  bell 

Was  taught  to  toll  the  measure  of  a  knell. 

C«?sar  victorious  deemed  his  blood  unsought 
When  Brutus  robbed  Rome  by  his  damning  plot. 
Ambitious  tyrants  bearing  haughty  sway, 
Oft'times  with  blood  the  price  of  crime  do  pay — 
Could  thou  suspect  ? — How  dared  death's  hideous  mien 
Lurk  hungerly  amid  such  brilliant  scene  ? 
Mirth  in  thine  heart — gathered  around  thee  there, 
The  capital's  array  of  great  and  fair — 
Ha !  mark  !  a  brow  of  lowering  hate  appear  ! 
A  spring ! — a  flash  ! — then  gushed  a  people's  tears. 

That  bold  assassin  did  his  work  too  well, 
When  thou,  loved  chieftain,  mid  thy  glory  fell. 
Mid  cruel  griefs,  foul  wrongs  so  dark  and  deep, 


112  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Justice  forbade  her  vengeance  long  to  sleep. 
Her  blow  has  fallen,  must  thou  fall  alone, 
When  woe  unutterable  heard  thy  dying  groan  ? 

In  Fame's  proud  temple  still  remains  a  niche 
Besides  the  father  of  thy  country,  which 
Throughout  all  time,  thou,  gen'rous  soul,  .shall  hold, 
Thy  name  on  high  'mong  patriots  enrolled, 
Who  furious  fought,  intrepid,  dauntless  band, 
Whose  graves  are  green  in  freedom's  smiling  land; 
Whose  souls  still  watchful,  hov'ring  o'er  the  free, 
Made  thee  their  leader  for  posterity. 

Shrined  with  the  just,  thy  name  shall  never  die ! 
The  silent  urn,  where  heroe's  ashes  lie, 
May  ne'er  close  o'er  the  mem'ry  of  the  great, 
While  pean's  praise  shall  sound  thine  high  estate. 
Though  o'er  the  path  of  humbler  life  thou  trod, 
True  genius  raised  thee  from  the  grov'ling  clod — 
Emancipator  !  Savior  of  the  slave  ! 
Pil'd  marble  points  a  leader  of  the  brave, 
And  Lincoln's  name  with  Washington  shall  be 
Revered  while  lives  a  nation  of  the  free ! 

EARLHAM  COLLEGE,  April  1865. 


THE  SIEGE 


THE  SIEGE. 


C  HELLS,  like  demons  wild,  are  shrieking  through  the 

thick  and  sulph'rous  air, 
In  loud  tones  of  terror   speaking   to   the   bold   hearts 

gathered  there. 
Hostile  ships  are  in  the  harbor,  and  the  foe  are  on  the 

land; 
Loud  the  voice  of  war  commingles  with  the  waves  upon 

the  strand. 

How  the   leaguered   city  echoes    with   the   bursting 

bombshell's  roar! 
Far  throughout  its    widest     precincts   fell   destruction 

spreading  o'er. 
Mothers  flee  with  wailing  infants  for  some  place  of  safety 

bound, 
If,  perchance,  in  that  doomed  city,  refuge  for  the  weak 

be  found. 


116  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

For,  those  wildly  shrieking  demons  mercy  show  to  man 

nor  beast, 
Like  grim  devils,  hot  from  hades,  here  with  death  to  hold 

a  feast! 

'Mid  that  scene  of  desperation,  little  heeding  shot  and 

shell- 
Dealing  death  and  devastation  where  the  ruthless  mis 
siles  fell ; 

'Mong  the  wounded  and  the  dying,  who  are  moaning 
round  her  there, 

Woman's  tenderest  care  supplying,  moves  a  maid  sur 
passing  fair ; 

With  a  look  of  pity  beaming  from  her  classic  features 
bright, 

As  a  seraph's  there  descended  from  the  boundless  realms 
of  light. 

As  she  passes  by  their  couches,  wondering  glances  fol 
low  her; — 

What  kind  power  should  send  this  angel  who  to  them 
would  minister? 

Now,  beside  a  couch  she  pauses,  bending  o'er  a  manly 

form ; 

Rupy  lips  have  pressed  his  forehead,  and  she  smoothes 
the  temples  warm; 


THE   SIEGE.  117 

Her   sweet   voice   is   like   soft   music,   stealing   on    the 

dreamer's  ear, 

When  the  floating  barque  of  Fancy  bears  the  soul  be 
yond  our  sphere. 
"  Peaceful  be  thy  slumbers,  Ambrose,  fiery  fever's  flush 

is  gone, 

And  I  hail  thy  growing  vigor,  as  the  sentinel  the  dawn." 
Then  the  warrior  breathed  low  accents,  when  he  found 

him  not  alone, 
And  perceived  the  eyes  of  beauty,  beaming  brightly  in 

his  own  : — 
"Dearest  Ethel,    thy    sweet    presence    seems  to  herald 

health's  return; 
Soon  the  joyous  tide  of  life  shall   bid  no  fevers  fiercely 

burn — 
Oh !  those  sunny  days,  dear  Ethel,   when  the  bloom  of 

health  is  mine ; 
Oh!  the  city's  joyous  anthems,  when  the  light  of  peace 

shall  shine." 

Darkly  frowns  the   rocky  fortress  o'er  the    waters   of 

the  bay ; 
Lurid  gleams  flash  from  the  vessels  on  the  deep  sea,  far 

awray ; 
Drearily  break  the  waves  of  ocean,  as  her  tide  sweeps 

o'er  the  sand. 


118  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

And  the  gloomy  shades  of  nightfall  spread  their  pall 

ahove  the  land. 
Ominous  silence  waits  upon  the  dreadful  breaking  forth 

of  power, 
For,  the  warlike  hosts  have  ceased  their  dismal  carnage 

for  the  hour. 
Fondly  looks  the  warrior  lover  on  the  maiden  at  his 

side, 
Clasping  Ethel's  lily  hand,  soon  destined  for  his  loved 

and  lovely  bride  ! — 

"  But  why  lurks  that  shade  of  sadness  'neath  the  droop 
ing  lashes  now  ? " 
Then  he  smoothed  the  braids  of  amber,  as  he  pressed 

the  fair  young  brow. 
"No!  thou  shalt  not  stay,  my  Ether;  for  thy  safety  much 

I  fear, 
Where   destruction   wide   is    spreading — where   death's 

ansrel  hovers  near ! 

O 

Though  the  morrow  brings  our   marriage,  when  I  claim 

thy  hand  as  mine, 
Would  thou  quit  the  city,  Ethel,  till  the  light  of  peace 

shall  shine  ? " 


Boldly  spoke  the  peerless  maiden: — "  While  the  brave 
are  falling  near, 


THE   SIEQB.  119 

I  will  wed  thee  on  the  morrow,  though  my  joy  is  blent 

with  fear. 
O'er   my   soul,   last  night,   in  dreaming,  direful  fancies 

round  would  hover, 
WTien  it  seemed  a  demon  bore  me  from  the  bosom  of  my 

lover ! " 
"  Be  not  downcast,  darling  Ethel,  let  me  see  thee  smile 

again. 
When  thou  art  my  bride,  to-morrow,  we  will  both  be 

happy  then ! " 


As  the  restless  waves  are   breaking  hoarse   along  the 

sandy  shore, — 
Hark    ye  to  the  opening  thunder! — 'Tis    the  cannon's 

wrathful  roar! 
Oh !  the  dark  tide  of  the  future !  whither  does  thy  current 

bear  ? 
Oh !  to  pierce  the  cloud  of  evils  when  its  shadow  draw- 

eth  near! 


Now  the  organ's  swelling  anthems  rise  and  fall  through 

dome  and  isle, 

As  the  measured  boom  of  cannon  with  its  music  blends 
the  while ! 


120  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Let  the  chapel  portal  open  !  for  a  bride  divinely  fair, 
By  her  lover's  arm  supported,  in  her  beauty  enters  there. 


With  her  bridal  robes,  as  spotless  as  the  virgin  snows 

of  earth, 
Flowing  round  her  form,    so   fautless,    seemeth    she   of 

heavenly  birth. 
Lo !  the  youth  who  moves  beside   her,   in  his  warlike 

trappings  bound, 
Is  a  soldier   from  the   battle,   with    his  sword  still  girt 

around ! 
That  gay  throng  who  follow  after  are  a  fair  and  goodly 

train  : — 
Shall  they  all,  who  cross   that   threshold,  in  life's  vigor 

pass  again  ? 


Bridal  robes  mid  scenes  of  carnage !  death  alone  light 

tones  may  hush. 
Cupid's  arrows   are  not  idle,  though   life's  ills  arise  to 

crush. 
Though  pale  horrors  gather  round  her,  love-light  beams 

in  beauty's  eye; 
When  the  golden  chain  has  bound  her,   Love,  though 

vanquished,  cannot  die. 


THE   SIEGE.  121 

In  his  sacred  robes  of  office  waits  the  priest  to  seal  the 

bans, — 
Ethel,  Ambrose  stand  united  by  knit  hearts   and  clasp 

of  hands. 

On  his  lips  the  word  yet   lingers — e'er  the  bride's  re 
sponse  is  given, 
Comes  the  dreadful  shrieking  demon ! — loud  the  frighted 

air  is  riven, 
With  the  crashing  of  his  thunder ; — Wildest  shrieks  of 

terror  rose, 
Thrilling  every  sense  with  horror! — Lo!  the  lurid  lights 

disclose, 
Those  in  agony   low   writhing  ! — Ah !  'tis  shocking  to 

behold 
The  warm  life-blood   slowly  ebbing  from    those  loving 

hearts  and  bold. 


As  grim  death  with  icy  fingers  touches  lips  once  full  of 

mirth, 
And  the  glazing  eye-light  lingers  for  a  last  farewell  of 

earth — 
List!  that  moan — like   zephyr   sighing  for  the  perished 

autumn  day! 
'Tis  the  dying  wail  of  Ethel,  who  among  the  bleeding 

lay! 


122  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

"  Oh!  thou  shalt  not  perish,  Ethel ! "  and  her  form  the 

warripr  raised ; 
Then  upon  the  anguished  features,   long  and  earnestly 

he  gazed : — 
"Oh!    my  darling! — thou    art  yet  mine! — oh!  the   icy 

hand  of  death ! 
Breathe,  oh!  breathe   the  word,  my   seraph,  e'er   thou 

draw  thy  latest  breath." 

Then  unclosed  the  eye-lids  softly,    and   the  pale  lips 

murmured  "Yes," — 
While  the  bridegroom  bending,  o'er  her,  gave  the  parting 

bridal  kiss; 
For  the  life-blood  fast  is  ebbing — now  he  feels  the  hand 

grow  cold; 
And  she  sleeps  in  death  reposing,  while  his  arms  her  form 

enfold. 

On  the  morrow,  fierce  contending,  Ambrose  fell  beside 

the  wave, 
And  the  maidens  wove  their  chaplets  over  his  and  Ethel's 

grave ; 
Where  magnolias  shed  sweet  fragrance  and  the  weeping 

willows  grow, 
When  peace  smiled  upon  the  city,  and   the  sullen  foe 

withdrew. 


CHARGE   OF   THE 


ICONOCLAST. 


CHARGE   OF  THE   ICONOCLAST. 


AN    ALLEGORY. 


TJTIS  charger  gleams  white  as  the  wild  albatros, 
Fleet  as  the  far  meteor  darting  across, 

Caparisoned  for  the  fierce  fray; 
Bedecked  with  bright  stars,  like  the  belt  of  Orion ; 
And  his  charge  is  resistless  as  that  of  the  lion, 

When  he  springs  through  the  night  on  the  prey. 

Like  the  foam  of  the  ocean  caught  up  from  the  seas, 
The  mane  of  the  steed  floats  afar  on  the  breeze 

From  a  neck  arching  grandly  and  proud ; 
His  nostril,  spread  wide,  snuffs  the  air  from  afar, 
Alert  for  the  terrible  opening  of  war, 

And  his  voice  like  the  thunder  is  loud ! 


126  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

The  warrior  who  guides  wears  a  countenance  firm, 
Each  movement  displaying  his  grandeur  of  form, 

In  double-mailed  garments  of  light. 
But  his  look  is  benign,  and  his  face  is  so  fair, 
Though  the  proud  power  of  triumph  looks  forth   in  his 
air, 

Feath  locks  like  the  sable  of  night. 

A  giant's  huge  sledge  at  his  saddle  bow  swings ; 

The  broad  shield  is  of  gold,  that  behind  him  he  slings, 

In  shape  like  the  disk  of  the  moon ; 
While  the  rider  and  steed  are  illumined  all  o'er, 
With  a  radiance  that  shines  many  leagues  on  before, 

And  behind  with  the  brightness  of  noon. 

Either  hand,  like  a  wall,  rises  blackness  of  night, 
Save  where  it  is  pierced  by  that  vision  of  light, 

As  fleet  as  the  speed  of  the  blast ! — 
Away !  and  away ! — with  a  dart,  and  a  flash ! — 
He  heeds  not  the  roar  of  the  torrent's  loud  crash, 

As  river  and  mountain  are  past. 

On !  onward  he  speeds ! — If  a  mortal  were  nigh, 
His  spirit  would  quail  neath  the  flame  in  that  eye, 

As  a  city's  proud  spires  rise  in  view ! 
'Tis  the  land  of  the  East !  where  the  radiant  dome 


CHARGE   OF   THE   ICONOCLAST.  127 

Gives  to  myriads  of  priests  a  luxuriant  home, 
Whose  tythings  augmented  still  grow. 

The  Iconoclast  comes,  heeding  never  their  cry, 
As  the  people  fall  prostrate,  but,  passing  them  by, 

The  temple's  proud  portal  he  gains. 
How  he  hurls  the  huge  sledge  with  a  ponderous  power ! 
How  the  pagoda  quakes  from  firm  basement  to  tower, 

By  the  force  of  fierce  shocks  it  sustains ! 


Bright  legions  appear  at  the  sound  of  that  blow ! 
Striving  on  till  the  temple's  proud  grandeur  lay  low — 

Transformed  in  an  instant  from  light ! 
Then,  the  steed  with  his  rider   spring  fieet  through  the 

air, 
Nor  an  instant  delay,  while  the  myriads  throng  there, 

And  the  multitude  scattered  in  flight. 


From  the  ruins  arose,  where  the  temple  had  stood, 
A  structure  full  vast;  and  its  cognomen,  "  GOOD  ", 

Was  graven  in  adamant  stone. 
Then  a  rostrum  arose  where  the  idol  had  been, 
And  an  Angel  of  Light  taught  the  people  therein 

Of  Nature's  God  reigning  alone. 


128  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

The  foe  to  false  deities  o'er  the  plain  sped, 
By  flaming  volcano  and  battle  field  red, 

Where  the  vintage  rich  treasures  bestowed; 
The  huge  hammer  hurtled  'gainst  many  a  shrine, 
"Where  a  kingdom  was  crushed  in  the  land  of  the  vine, 

And  despots  saw  tyranny  bowed. 

Yet,  the  stern  rider  heard  not  the  murmurs  that  came — 
Devastation  that  swept  with  the  torch's  fierce  flame — 

As  he  smote  Superstition's  high  places; 
For,  the  Legions  of  Light  ever  came  at  his  call, 
As  he  caused  the  proud  structures  of  Error  to  Fall, 

Before  the  grim  priests'  pallid  faces. 

The  opposing  Pope  rose ! — quickly  fled  in  affright ! 
As  his  minions  grew  blind  in  the  glare  of  the  light ! 

While  crashed  their  cathedral's  proud  altar. 
As  prone  in  the  dust  lay  the  Virgin  and  shrine, 
Unheeded  the  bauble's  auriferous  shine 

By  the  firm  and  unfaltering  assaulter. 

That  vast  structure  was  found  in  Italia's  fair  clime, 
Whose  grandeur,  far-reaching,  high  towered  sublime 

Above  Superstition's  proud  dome. 
Then  the  architrave  fell  by  great  Angelo  laid, 


CHARGE    OF    THE    ICONOCLAST.  129 

And  the  beautiful  altar-piece,  gorgeous  arrayed, 
At  the  crash  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome ! 


But  the  Gods  of  the  nations  came  not  to  oppose 
The  image-destroyer,  nor  yet  the  pale  foes 

Of  Darkness,  Superstition  and  Error ; 
Whose  toils  are  unceasing,  who  never  give  o'er 
Till  the  foundations  fall  of  the  temples  of  yore, 

And  joy  takes  the  place  of  grim  terror. 


No  structure  so  firm  but  comes  down  at  a  blow, 
Spread  wide  on  the  plain,  in  crushed  ruins  below, 

When  the  pale  rider  smites  with  his  sledge. 
In  the  land  of  inquisitors  monuments  fall, 
And  delusions  of  spirit  no  longer  appall, — 

Soul-freedom  redeemeth  the  age ! 


All  realms  of  the  earth  the  pale  charger  speeds  through, 
And  still  her  proud  pinnacles  sink  from  the  view 

In  the  lands  by  the  farthest  seas  ! 

That  vast  people  flourishing — know  as  "  The  Free," — 
Whose  gods  are  ten  thousand — who  bow  low  the  knee — 

Are  awaked  from  their  lethargic  ease. 


130  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

For,  the  Legions  of  Light  are  abroad  in  that  land 
Where  smites  unrelenting  the  merciles  hand, 

And  the  people  give  heed  to  their  preaching ; 
Free  rostrums  arise  where  the  images  were, 
O'er  which  the  fair  monuments  splendid  appear, 

Whose  spires  through  the  skies  are  far-reaching. 

Men  lighted  huge  fires  with  vast  volumes  of  flame — 
Hard  pressed  by  the  whirlwind  the  blinding  smoke  came, 

Far  round  in  red  fierceness  they  rolled! 
And  forests  .were  felled  to  oppose  the  swift  course 
Of  the  rider  who  guided  the  mystic  white  horse, 

Whom  barrier  never  controlled; 

Whose  course  is  unchecked  though  the  earthquake  is 

nigh, 
And  no  idol  he  spares,  though  men's  dogmas  may  die, 

Neither  stays  for  refreshment  nor  rest; 
For,  his  charger  exists  on  the  vapors  which  rise 
From  the  gardens  of  earth  where  the  white  lilly  dies, 

To  obey  the  angelic  behest. 

ISTow  the  breaker  of  images  speedeth  away 
Fulfilling  his  mission  ; — rides  far  to  obey 
The  myriads  of  ministering  immortals ; 


CHARGE    OF    THE    ICONOCLAST.  131 

And,  although  the  earthquake,   though   vain   man  doth 

oppose, 

Though  the  phalanx  impregnable  seemeth  of  foes, 
They  appear  through  the  wide-open  portals. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


This  descriptive  poem  forms  the  prelude  to  a  tale  inverse, 
entitled  "  The  Maid  of  the  Mississippi,"  soon  to  be  published 
by  the  same  author. 

The  poems  to  Tennyson  and  Bryant,  which  immediately 
follow,  are  selections  from  "A  Tribute  to  the  Poets,"  which 
will  appear  complete,  in  the  same  volume  with  the  above  men 
tioned  tale. 

Seefty  leaf  at  the  end  of  this  volume. 


NIGHT  SCENE  ON  THE  MISSISSIPPI. 


PHE  mystic  moon's  celestial  sphere 

Rides  on  the  broad  expanse  of  wave, 
Twixt  mural  mountains,  frowning  drear 
Above  the  wandering  Spaniard's  grave ; 
On  whose  broad  breast,  like  Maldive  barque, 
Reflected  floats  each  starry  spark. 
Monarch  of  waters  !  wild  and  wide  ! 
Dark,  gloomy,  depths  of  turbid  tide ! 
Slow  rolling  on, — an  endless  sea, 
Majestic,  deep,  perpetually. 
Oh!  wondrous  tide  of  power,  that  flows 
To  tropic  seas  from  Arctic  snows ! 

Grim  giants  drive  a  deep-mouthed  roar 
From  slimy  depths  of  yawning  caves, 
Wave-washed  Avithin,  well  worn  with  waves, 
Dark  in  the  dim  receeding  shore. 


136  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

The  sluggish  tributary's  flow 
From  yonder  shadowy  defile 
Sweeps  slowly  round  the  sedgy  isle  ; 
Swirling  in  shoals  of  crested  snow, 
Through  prostrate,  grasping  arms  of  grey ; 
In  bayou,  marsh,  and  lagoon  shallow, 
Uncouth  and  grim  in  moon-light  yellow, 
The  alligator  waits  his  prey. 


The  myriad  flocks  at  twilight  glow 
That  lined  the  sands  like  drifting  snow, — 
The  fisher-fowl  have  sought  the  fen, 
That  all  day  gleaned  a  livelihood 
From  tender  bulb  and  finny  brood, — 
Diedipper,  coot,  and  pelican. 


Flow  on  !  grand  flood !  whose  wealth  creates 
From  forests  drear,  fair,  fruitful  states ;    ¥ 
Whose  blooming  vales  e'erwhile  were  rife 
With  unrelenting  civic  strife. 
Nor  always  borne,  benignly  mild 
By  slumb'ring  shores  with  plenty  blest, 
Like  tyrant  with  his  wrath  at  rest, — 
Destruction  waits  thy  waters  wild ! 


NIGHT    SCENE    ON    THE    MISSISSIPPI.  137 

Mad  in  thy  myriad  miles  of  might, 
The  darkly  dreadful  surges  pour 
A  vasty  deep  o'er  either  shore, 
Above  the  dyke's  impotent  height. 
Man  may  not  stay  thy  ruthless  sway; — 
Roaring  in  wrath  through  wide  crevasse, 
The  raging,  surging  waters  pass, 
Whose  force  no  power  on  earth  shall  stay ! 
Mid  crashing  trunks  in  swirling  sweep, 
The  pale,  grief-stricken  planter  yields 
His  fair  plantation's  feathery  fields 
To  thy  destruction, boundless  deep! 


Light-gliding  birch  canoes  have  flown 
Where  thy  far  northern  waters  lone, 
Unstained  by  red  Missouri's  hue, 
Sheeted  in  clearest  glassy  blue, 
Lock  arms  with  wild  Saskatchawan. 
But  now  the  barques  that  cleave  thy  crest 
A  nation's  wealth  bear  o'er  thy  breast. 
Ages  have  passed;  the  wigwam  stood 
Where  cities  tower  along  thy  flood, 
And  pour  vast  treasures  toward  that  goal 
Where  warm  the  Mexic  waters  roll. 


138  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Along  thy  wave  reach  radiant  beams 
Which  night's  long  loneliness  have  riven  ; 
Glanced  hy  the  quiet  queen  of  heaven, 
Who  rules  our  period  of  dreams. 
She  casts  her  diamonds  down  to  dance 
Amid  the  transitory  banci, 
Like  frolic  elves  from  fairy  land, 
Over  the  river's  broad  expanse. 

On  such  a  night  the  starry  wave 
Became  De  Soto's  silent  grave. 
He  dared  the  ocean  for  this  tomb  ; 
Oh !  sombre  stream  !  whose  name  he  gave, ! 
In  many  mighty  marches  came. 
Not  spectres  of  the  dismal  swamp, 
NOT  prowling  Indian's  deadly  hate, 
Nor  panther  howling  round  his  camp 
Revoked  his  desolating  fate, 
While  threading  wild  or  fording  wave, 
Till  death  took  the  intrepid  brave. 

The  torch  on  high  was  flaming  red, 
While  priest  with  flaming  censer  led 
Te  Deum's  solemn  anthem  deep 
Above  the  Spaniard's  dreamless  sleep; 


NIGHT   SCENE   ON   THE   MISSISSIPPI.  139 

In  Castile's  banner  sadly  wound, 

With  sword  agrasp,  by  helmet  crowned. 

Midway  the  dark  sepulchral  stream 
They  lowered  the  hero  from  their  barque ; 
Above  him  closed  the  waters  dark ; 
Down  deep  the  lifeless  burthen  fell; 
Came  from  the  shore  the  panther's  scream, 
O'er  rippling  wave  and  lonely  dell. 
Then  slowly  veered  the  funeral  barque 
Toward  the  still  shore-line,  dim  and  dark — 
Rowed  in  sad  silence,  lest  the  foe 
His  death  and  burial  place  should  know. 


TENNYSON. 


/^REAT  Tennyson!  from  Fame's  high  mountain  brow, 

Canst  hear  my  shell,  so  far  off,  faint  and  low, 
That  tribute  sends  o'er  plain  and  ocean's  flow  ? 
The  charm  that  plays  along  thy  faultless  line, 
i!^o  mortal  pen  hath  cunning  to  define; 
Whose  clust'ring  gems  in  rare  effulgence  shine 
Like  diamonds  pure  from  some  prolific  mine. 
Through  realms  of  beauty  hath  thy  spirit  stray'd, 
Whose  bloom  profusive  o'er  thy  verse  is  laid ; 
As  when  the  maidens  strew  the  floral  shower 
At  hero's  triumph  in  his  glory's  hour. 

Thy  jewel  lamp  with  glories  of  the  day, 
Illumines  time  with  meteoric  ray. 
Astounded  critics  scan  thy  rythmic  page, — 
Thy  matchless  might  bears  thee  beyond  their  rage  ! 
What  power  is  thine  to  charm  this  all-wise  age  ? 


142  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


Oh,  lovely  Maude !  Oh,  dreams  of  Looksley  Hall ! 
Poor  Enoch  Arden  !  Princess  !  Idyls  all ! 
Sad  in  Memorium!  Golden  Festival! — 
The  drama  calls  thee ! — proud  Queen  Mary  stands, 
Cold,  cruel,  courtly — pale,  with  crimson  hands, 
While  groaning  martyrs  burn  through  British  lands ; 
Doomed  Harold  wars  with  Norman  William's  host, 
Till  crown  and  kingdom,  hope  and  life  are  lost. 
Behold !  the  Muse  holds  forth  as  thine  award, 
The  mantle  meet  of  Avon's  deathless  bard ! 


BRYANT. 


ILLUSTRIOUS  Bryant!  patriarchal  bard ! 

Rejoicing  nature  varied  language  heard 
When  thy  pure  harp  amid  her  solitudes, 
Chanted  the  glories  of  her  changeful  moods; 
Hymning  thy  praise,  tuned  to  the  sighing  bough, 
Where  scented  air  of  meadows  cools  thy  brow ; 
Vast  prospects  wake  thy  contemplative  mood, 
And  bid  the  picture  lakelet,  stream  and  wood ; 
The  humming-bird,  that  sports  amid  the  spray; 
The  water-fowl,  that  cleaves  the  airy  way; 
The  green  bank,  dinted  by  the  timid  deer; 
The  wolf  that  laps,  the  growling  slow-paced  bear. 

No  fierce  convulsions  jar  thy  life's  smooth  flow, 
Nor  penury  brings  scenes  of  want  and  woe. 
Though  oft  rare  genius  hath  its  ray  obscured, 
Inattic  dim,  by  poverty  immured, 


144  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Fair  fortune  o'er  thee  spread  a  lavish  hand, 

Though  thy  pure  life  wealth's  luxury  disdain'd. 

Fame's  proud  exaltings  worked  no  change  in  thee, 

Sage  of  a  nation's  sweetest  minstrelsy  ! 

Dear  to  the  children  of  thy  native  land, 

Linked  with  her  loveliest  scenes  thy  name  shall  stand. 


UNREST. 


'W'E  evening  winds  that  gently  blow, 

And  soft  on  balmy  pinions  bear, 
Haste  ye  to  breathe  where  flow'rets  grow, 

To  feast  amid  their  fragrance  rare  ? 
Ye  lately  mourned  for  they  who  died, 

Your  sweet  companions  of  the  plain — 
Would  ye  they  might  for  aye  abide  ? 

Alas  !  the  chilling  blasts  have  slain. 

Why  do  ye  sigh,  oh  !  gentle  winds  ! 

While  floating  o'er  the  brightest  scenes  ?- 
"  The  gayest  grot  bleak  sorrow  finds, 

Twixt  hope  and  joy  grief  intervenes." 
Soft,  unseen  mourners,  why  should  ye 

Seem  sorrowing  o'er  my  absent  joys  ? 
And  with  me  murmur,  "Woe  is  me!" 

Sighing  that  care  man's  peace  destroys  ? 


146  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

While  whispering  o'er  this  vernal  sphere, 

Find  ye  no  spot  that  ever  shines  ? 
Where  naught  is  dampt  by  briny  tear, 

Where  the  glad  bosom  ne'er  repines  ? 
Have  ye  ne'er  sought  those  joyous  bowers, 

Where  love  reclines  that  poets  sing? 
Where  sylphs  delight  the  honied  hours, 

And  naught  may  hush  the  lute's  light  string  ? 

Where  ne'er  beside  the  banquet  board, 

O'er  his  divan  the  monarch  sees, 
By  brittle  hair,  the  gleaming  sword 

Suspended  o'er  his  couch  of  ease  ? 
What  do  I  hear  ? — an  answering  sigh, 

Responsive  to  my  query  bold, 
Oh  !  listen  to  the  sad  reply : — 

"  Peace  ne'er  abode  with  mortal  mould." 


GEESE. 


all  the  domestic  fowls  fit  for  man's  use, 

For  down  or  for  roasting,  the  best  is  the  goose; 
And  although  the  roast  turkey,  a  dish  of  renown, 
At  Christmas  much  talked  of  in  country  and  town, 
May  be  savory,  indeed,  yet  were  we  to  compare 
The  goose  with  the  turkey,  we  could  but  declare 
That  the  preference,  indeed,  to  the  former  were  due, 
To  be  ever  chosen  by  epicure  true. — 

Prepared  by  the  garcon  for  table  'd  hote, 
As  a  dish  for  excelling  the  fillagreed  shoat, 
Have  the  dressing  with  spices  appropriately  mix'd, 
And  the  fowl  on  the  salver  attactively  fix'd — 
Just  browned  to  a  crisp,  while  the  fragrant  sauce  flows, 
Nicely  seasoned,  betwixt  the  potatoes  in  rows; 
Then  glorious,  indeed,  are  the  odors  which  rise, 
E'en  tempting  the  gods  from  their  feast  in  the  skies. 


148  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Artistically  carve  now, .with  consummate  art, 
To  each  guest  expectant  dispose  of  a  part; 
Send  orders  for  desert,  and  serve  on  the  wine — 
Oh  !  who  could  the  joys  of  such  feasting  resign  ? 
We  are  of  the  earth  earthy,  and  appetite  craves 
The  good  things  of  life;  yet,  when  Gluttony's  slaves 
Bow  low  to  her  mandates,  with  scarcely  a  doubt, 
They  are  held  on  the  rack  by  Dyspepsia  and  Gout. 

Who  has  not  at  evening  reposed  with  his  head 
On  light,  downy  pillow  while  weariness  fled? 
But  who  finds  for  pity  a  place  in  his  mind, 
Or  feels  for  the  woes  or  the  goose  and  its  kind? 
For,  oh  !  it  is  doleful  while  plucking  the  geese, 
And  rending  the  delicate,  snowy-white  fleece, 
To  list  to  the  heart-rending  clamor  they  raise, 
But  the  pityless  picker  her  hand  never  stays; 
For,  a  daughter  will  soon  to  the  altar  be  led, 
And  the  matron,  of  course,  must  present  her  a  bed ! 
Then,  soft  as  the  thistle  down  wafted  on  high, 
Is  the  couch  whereon  rosy  young  beauty  shall  lie. 

When  the  geese  are  plucked  nakedly  ragged  and  lean, 
Realizeing  that  they  are  unfit  to  be  seen 
Divest  of  their  plumage — dejected  and  drooping, 
How  touching  the  scene  is  ?  as  o'er  the  lawn  trooping, 


GEESE.  149 

And  striving  to  hide  from  the  eye  their  disgrace, 
They  seek  in  the  woodland  a  safe  hiding  place  ? 
Instinctively  shrinking  from  view  in  their  pain, 
Till  nature  symmetrically  clothes  them  again. 
Then,  how  graceful  the  geese !  as  in  squadrons  they  sail 
O'er  the  clear,  glassy  lake  in  their  plumage  so  pale; 
Where,  steering  and  veering,  their  feathers  they  lave, 
And  dive  in  their  frolics  beneath  the  bright  wave. 

When  Rome  was  at  war  with  a  neighboring  state, 
The  foe  were  in  ambuscade  lying  in  wait  ; 
And  seeking  by  stratagem,  thus  to  beguile 
The  Romans  to  march  through  a  narrow  defile ; 
Then  a  flock  of  geese  passed  where  the  enemy  lay, 
Loud  clamoring  with  fright  in  a  terrible  way; 
So    the   legions   were   warned,  when  they  would   h*ve 

passed  in, 

And  the  foe  were  disgusted,  and  left  in  chagrin. 
Thus  Rome  was  preserved  by  the  gabbling  of  geese, 

And  their  flocks  were  protected  and  'lowed  to  increase. 
i 

By-the-way,  of  the  goose  many  species  are  known, 
And  the  rivers  out  west  by  wild  flocks  are  o'erflown — 
Nor  always  distinguished  by  feathers  alone ; 
For,  a  goose  may  wear  broad-cloth,  fine  boots,  and  a  hat, 
Sport  a  cane,  a  cigar,  moustache  and  all  that — 


150  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Howbeit,  this  species  dishonors  the  bird, 
Although  of  the  fowl  they  may  claim  to  be  lord ; — 
And  noted  for  thinking  their  crests  higher  by  far, 
Than,  truthfully  speaking,  they  actually  are  ; 
For,  a  goose  upon  passing  an  entrance  will  nod, 
Though  the  opening  above  may  extend  a  full  rod. 

A.  goose  by  the  tailor  is  oft  in  request, 
By  means  of  which  seam  and  lappel  are  impressed; 
When  tooth-picks  are  needed,  the  biped  again 
Appears  as  a  valued  assistant  to  men  ; 
With  the  quill  of  the  goose,  e'er  usurped  by  the  steel, 
The  author  his  thoughts  to  the  world  would  reveal ; 
And  well  might  the  writer  of  that  day  concede 

That  the  plume  of  this  bird  was  a  blessing,  indeed. 

i 

Of  this  biped  a  story  is  wont  to  be  told 
With  an  excellent  moral,  although  it  be  old; 
To  the  doings  of  men  it  will  aptly  apply, 
And  a  hint  of  such  value  should  never  go  by. 

There  dwelt  an  old  woman — I  cannot  tell  where — 
And  a  goose  she  possessed  with  this  attribute  rare; 
For,  instead  of  producing,  to  nature  so  true, 
Such  eggs  as  'tis  known  that  all  other  geese  do, 
To  believe  in  the  truth  of  the  story  as  told, 


GEESE.  151 

You  must  think  that  the  eggs  of  this  bird  were  of  gold ! 
The  ancients  had  said,  'twas  a  gift  from  the  gods  ! 
Who  cares  how  she  got  it  ? — a  fig  for  the  odds ! 

The  lugubrious  owner,  by  valuable  lays, 
Was  quickly  enabled  'bove  neighbors  to  raise ; 
But,  as  weak  human  nature  is  seldom,  if  ever, 
Satisfied  with  enough,  so  she  now  must  endeavor 
To  possess  all  the  gold  of  the  wonderful  goose, 
Though  for  it  she  found  no  immediate  use ; 
'Twas  avarice  that  caused  her  to  seek  as  she  did, 
And  to  carve  for  the  eggs  where  she  thought  they  were 
hid. 

She  laid  open  the  goose  with  a  horn-handled  knife, 
Which,  as  naturally  followed,  deprived  it  of  life ; 
Then  who  can  imagine  her  grief  and  surprise, 
When  never  an  egg  met  the  old  woman's  eyes  ! 
But,  alas !  for  the  fowl  which  had  brought  her  such  gain, 
With  covetous  hand  she  had  ruthlessly  slain ; 
Then  the  old  woman's  fortunes  grew  rapidly  worse, 
Till  poverty  came  with  a  terrible  curse. 
Thus,  the  moral  is  very  explicitly  shown : — 
We  are  wise  to  let  well  enough  ever  alone. 


THE  HAUNTED  SOUL. 


\7ES,  'tis  past ! — those  ties  are  severed, 

Which  have  held  thine  image  near; — 
Unforgotten  !  heartstrings  quivered 
O'er  remembrances  so  dear ! 

Years  those  tender  ties  have  bound  me, 
But  the  cords  are  snapt  for  aye, 

And  when  lovely  forms  surround  me, 
Shall  I  think  on  thee  away  ? 


I  remember  how  I  met  thee 

In  my  youth's  too  balmy  spring ; — 
How  I've  striven  to  forget  thee, 

While  my  heart  was  withering  ! 

Now  those  sunny  days  are  over; — 
Happy  dreams  !  too  sweet  to  last ! 


154  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

And  their  mem'ries  deep  I  cover, 
Sleeping  with  the  buried  past. 

I  have  feasted  on  remembrance, 
And  my  soul  has  queried  then, 

If  thy  form  of  beauty's  semblance 
I  should  ever  clasp  again? — 

Let  his  store  of  gold  controll  thee ! 

Better  far  than  love  or  grace; 
'Tis  the  thought  that  shall  console  me  ;- 

Perish  heart  that  holds  it  base  ! 

Yet,  I  find  no  voice  to  censure ; 

Now  my  heart  grows  never  chill ; — 
What  were  I,  that  I  should  venture 

To  a  place  that  gold  should  fill ! 

Aye  !  though  Fortune  smile  upon  thee, 

Ostentation  be  thine  own, 
All  the  sweets  of  love  will  shun  thee — 

Gold  hath  taken  wings  and  flown ! 

Yes!  I  know  thy  love  is  fickle, 

And  thy  smiles  are  cheaply  bought. 


THE   HAUNTED   SOUL.  155 

IsTow,  perchance,  thou'lt  reck  but  little — 
Time  and  anguish  waken  thought. 

Though  thy  fond  looks  greet  another, 

Still  his  blissful  dream  is  short ; 
Though  the  hands  be  clasped  together, 

Love  alone  secures  the  heart. 

Cold  indifference  breeds  dissention ; 

Then  the  yawning  gulf  appears, 
Still  unbridged  by  good  intention  ; — 

Oh  !  the  floods  of  scalding  tears  ! 

He  may  greet  thee  fondly,  kindly, 

Dreaming  of  his  treasure  won ; 
Thou  wilt  smile  upon  him  blandly, 

When  thy  soul  shall  seek  to  shun. 

And  the  bitter  words,  reproving, 

Lightly  slumbering,  soon  shall  wake ; 

Then  the  cold  heart,  still  unloving, 
In  its  lonely  tomb  shall  ache. 

When  the  silent  tear  shall  wander 
O'er  that  cheek  once  beauty's  throne, 


156  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Then  thou  may'st  in  silence  ponder, 
O'er  the  love  forever  flown. 

Gaul  hath  usurped  all  life's  sweetness ; 

Where  'twas  brightest,  gloom  appears; 
Once,  the  moment's  wings  had  fleetness ; 

Kow,  how  wearily  drag  the  years  ? 

All  the  hopes  of  life  are  blasted ; — 
How  their  ghosts  wail  on  the  blast ! 

Joys  which  might  through  time  have  lasted, 
Down  Oblivion's  waters  past. 

But  my  soul  awakes  from  dreaming 
O'er  mutations  brought  by  time  : — 

Wide's  the  world,  with  beauty  teeming, 
Calling  loud  to  deeds  sublime ! 


THE  FESTIVAL  FILLS  ME  WITH 
SADNESS. 


HTIIE  festival  fills  me  with  sadness, 

Though  light  be  the  strains  that  I  hear; 
Sweet  music  which  woke  me  to  gladness, 
Now  moistens  mine  eye  with  a  tear. 

"Within  the  gay  circle  I'm  lonely, 

Though  beauty's  fond  smiles  I  may  see  ; 

I  am  moved  with  one  thought  of  thee  only ! 
Oh!  think'st  thou,  sweet  Florence,  of  me  ? 

From  every  loved  spot  I  am  staying, 

Which  we  by  our  wanderings  endearec] ; 

Suppressing  the  deep  sigh  betraying, 
The  heart  that  a  sorrow  has  seared. 


158  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Oh !  is  there  no  semblance  of  feeling 
Thy  bosom  may  cherish  e'en  yet  ? 

A  thought  that  thine  heart  is  concealing? 
A  something  akin  to  regret? 

False !  false  to  the  bosom  that  cherished 

Thy  beautiful  image  in  vain! 
The  heart  that  for  thee  would  have  perished, 

Oh!  was  it  thy  pleasure  to  pain? 

Where  beauty  and  youth  are  assembling, 

I  drive  retrospection  away; 
For,  why  should  I  dream  that  dissembling 

Dwells  with  such  fair  creatures  as  they  ? 

Yet,  he  whom  that  sunny  glance  blesses, 
May  feel  his  fond  cheek  to  grow  pale ; 

And  learn  that  soft  looks  and  caresses 
May  all  in  their  tenderness  fail. 

Though  her  beautiful  cheek  be  as  roses, 
Her  brow  than  the  lily  more  fair, 

In  that  jeweled  bosom  reposes, 
Deceipts  and  a  treacherous  snare, 


THE  SOUL'S  MIRROR: 


woman's  heart  sustains  within 
A  voice  to  prophesy  akin  ; 
A  wail  of  warning,  vaguely  sent; 
More  clear  her  far-divining  eye 
Than  subtlest  man's  philosophy. 
Mysterious  presentiment! 
That  would  the  way  for  woe  prepare, 
Or  life's  rude  shocks  could  illy  bear 
Her  gentler  nature,  frail  as  fair. 

The  heart  may  close  its  portals  all; 
Still  glares  that  visage  o'er  the  wall, 
Where  sits  the  scowl  of  sullen  fate 
That  ceaseless  clamors  at  the  gate. 


*From  "The  Maid  of  the  Mississippi," — a  tale  in  verse,  soon  to 
be  issued  by  the  same  author. 


160  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Oh  !  there  is  naught  the  heart  can  melt 
Like  beauty  troubled ;  naught  relieving 

Her  poignant  pangs  of  anguish  felt — 
More  lovely  in  her  silent  grieving; 

"When  sculptured  lips  no  word  essay 

To  tell  what  hides  their  smile  away ; 

Like  shadow  stealing  o'er  the  flower, 

The  lingering  shade  of  gentlest  shower ; 

Intensifying  every  grace 

Exquisite  on  the  lovely  face  ; 

Where  soul  seems  mounting  to  those  eyes 

In  whose  depths  nameless  magic  lies. 


As  white  frost  fades  before  the  gleam 
Of  early  morn's  approaching  beam, 
Speeds  that  cold  barrier,  ever  wound 
So  closely  stranger  hearts  around; 
For,  that  strange  spell  is  o'er  us  thrown 
That  binds  the  soul  beside  its  own ; 
In  sublimated  essence  shrined, 
Two  spirits  blending  as  one  mind; 
Then  thoughts  well  up  within  the  breast 
That  seem  to  inward  ears  addressed  ; 
Their  soft  import  conveyed  to  each 
Without  the  form  of  outward  speech ; 


161 


Should  murmuring  lips  low  tones  diffuse, 
Let  not  the  ear  an  accent  loose. 

Earth  brings  from  heaven  its  chiefest  charm, 

To  beautify  the  fautless  form, 

Whose  lines  shall  be  immortal ; — never 

Is  rosy-tinted  beauty  lost ; 
Returning  there  to  live  forever, 

Beyond  time's  treacherous  ocean  tost; 
Unmared  by  sorrow,  gloom  or  care, 
To  beam  perpetually  there. 


TO  H  *  *  * 


/^\H  !  woulcl'st  thou  ask  a  line  of  me 

To  breathe  my  faithful  heart's  devotion  ? 
Dear  one  !  my  life  is  lived  for  thee ; 
Thy  smile  or  tear  shades  each  emotion. 

I  saw  thy  face — changed  grew  the  world ! 

I  dreamed  not  of  the  pending  danger ; 
Misfortune's  cruel  darts  were  hurled,    . 

And  peace  was  to  my  soul  a  stranger. 

Oh !  then  I  only  lived  to  sigh ; 

My  hopes  and  joys  all  fled  together; 
Each  pleasure  passed  unheeded  by, 

And  clouds  of  gloom  hung  low  to  smother. 

Oh  !  thou  may  never,  never  doubt, 

This  heart,  which  nought  hath  power  of  changing'; 


164  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Still  loving,  constant,  while  about, 
The  fires  of  sullen  fate  are  raging. 

I  loved  thee  for  thy  woman's  soul 

And  won  the  fond,  the  precious  treasure ; 

Resigning  to  thy  light  control 
Devotion  nought  can  ever  measure. 

I  knew  that  thou  wert  pure  and  fair  ; 

Ideal  of  my  heart  resembling: — 
My  Muse  lacks  language  to  declare 

What  made  me  thine  without  dissembling. 

And  it  shall  ever  be  my  part, 

To  strive  for  what  to  thee  is  pleasing ; 

To  know  no  sorrow  sears  thine  heart. 
To  make  thine  happiness  unceasing. 

Each  earthly  grief  shall  loose  its  sting 
"When  I  may  see  my  Hattie  smiling; 

For  thou,  dear  one,  the  balm  may  bring 
The  sadest  hour  of  grief  beguiling. 


OH  GENTLY  BLOW,  YE  AUTUMN 
GALES. 


A   SONG. 


!  gently  blow  the  autumn  gales, 

Where  flowrets  bloom  the  rarest ; 
Of  maids  that  roam  Miami's  vales, 
My  Fanny  was  the  fairest. 

Her  hair  in  many  a  golden  band, 
O'er  cheeks  as  roses  blooming, 

"Was  braided  by  her  gentle  hand, 
The  lilly's  hue  assuming. 


166  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Beside  Miami's  waters  bright, 
That  at  our  feet  were  flowing, 

We  gazed  upon  the  ripples  light, 
And  felt  the  breezes  blowing. 

Oh  !  tender  were  the  words  we  said, 
Beside  that  lovely  river ; 

Although  her  sunny  smiles  are  fled, 
My  Fanny  lives  forever. 


REMORSE. 


A  \J"H.O  can  conceive  so  dire  a  hell 

As  rages  in  the  human  breast, 
For  her  entombed  who  loved  thee  well, 

Whose  presence  like  an  Angel's  blessed  ? 
Whose  wounded  soul  too  deeply  felt 
The  blow  thy  deed  of  madness  dealt  ? 
Neglect,  thy  madly  reckless  course, 
Drove  daggers  home  with  deadly  force  ; 
Then,  of  thy  flower  of  beauty  shorn, 
Thou'rt  left  in  solitude  to  mourn. 


Remorseful  pangs,  like  lava,  roll 
Their  seething  billows  o'er  the  soul ; 
And  in  their  track  rush  frantic  there, 
Pale  horror,  anguish,  and  despair. 
Remorse !  thou  hast  a  fearful  sting ! 


168  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

Reason  may  no  consoling  bring 
To  this  life  woe,  so  withering. 

Hope  blighting  as  the  upas  shade 
That  shadows  Knifon's  tainted  glade ; 
Alas !  from  thee  is  no  return ; 
Still  thine  unslumb'ring  fires  burn, 
And  the  seared  heart  forever  cries, 
Stung  barbed  scorpions  till  she  dies. 


YOUR  SISTER. 


\  A7HO  found  you  when  young, 

Where  the  peaches  were  hung 
From  a  pin  in  the  wall  of  the  kitchen  ? 
And  when  you  ne'er  thought 
In  the  theft  to  be  caught, 
Your  labor  repaid  with  a  switchin'  ? 
Your  sister. 

"When  the  tea-table  smoked, 

And  when  you  became  choked, 
Who  begun  'twixt  your  shoulders  a-pounding  ? 

And  stopped  all  your  cries 

For  cakes  and  for  pies, 
By  the  doctrines  of  hygiene  expounding  ? 
Your  sister. 

While  speeding  away, 
The  inverted  sleigh 


170  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

With  the  shafts  and  the  timbers  went  crashing: 

CD 

Who  was  it  who  sat 
On  your  new  beaver  hat 
As  into  the  snow  you  went  dashing  ? 
Your  sister. 

Who  was  it  you  led 

On  the  log  o'er  the  bed 
Of  the  stream  which  below  you  went  dashing  ? 

Who  sliped  from  your  hold, 

And  after  you  rolled 
Into  the  cold  stream  with  a  splashing  ? 
Your  sister. 

And  who  •  was  the  lass, 

When  you  sat  in  the  class, 
Kept  your  mind  from  its  task  ever  breaking  ? 

And  drawing  your  looks 

Far  away  from  your  books, 
Would  keep  your  poor  heart  ever  acheing  ? 

Somebody  else's  sister ! 


SHE  LIVES  AGAIN. 


/^\H  !  dost  thou  know  a  power  on  high 

With  every  grace  has  blessed  thee  ? 
Then  marvel  not,  sweet  maid,  that  I 
A  wanderer,  addressed  thee. 

Thou  hast  the  faultless  form  of  one, 

Whose  memory  I  cherish ; 
Whose  fleeting  day  too  soon  was  done, 

And  she,  alas  !  must  perish. 

For,  Oh  !  she  faded,— I  was  left 

In  this  false  world,  so  lonely ; 
I  roam  afar,  because  bereft 

Of  her  I  lived  for  only. 

Her  spirit  shone  with  every  grace, 
Sweet  purity  could  render; 


172  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

None  e'er  might  look  upon  her  face 
Nor  feel  his  soul  grow  tender. 

And  when  thy  father's  brilliant  hall 
On  that  bright  eve  I  entered, 

When  hearkened  all  to  pleasure's  call, 
My  gaze  on  thee  was  centred. 

I  saw  upon  thy  features  play 

The  smile  that  beamed  so  sweetly  ; 

So  loved  by  me  in  that  bright  day 
That  passed  away  too  fleetly. 

Thy  sparkling  eye,  thy  raven  hair, 
Alike  were  her  possession  ; 

The  rosy  lips,  and  brow  so  fair, 
And  thine  the  same  expression. 

And  when  my  glance  dwelt  on  thee  then, 

I  felt  my  heart  grow  lighter ; 
.    It  seemed  she  was  on  earth  again, 
And  I,  once  more,  beside  her. 


EARLHAM  COLLEGE  GAMES. 


CHALL  Earlham's  day  remain  unsung, 

And  find  no  voice  to  sing  its  praise  ? 
For  love  and  war  loud  harps  have  rung ; 
Bards  to  the  bowl  pour  deathless  lays  ! 

One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thy  games ; 

One  bard  shall  sing  with  greatful  heart! 
The  Muse  shall  ne'er  reject  thy  claims, 

Till  memory  and  youth  depart! 

Olympic  games  the  Grecians  had, 

And  widely  far  was  spread  their  fame  ; 

In  ancient  day  his  heart  was  glad 

Whose  prowess  won  the  festive  game. 

Vain  Nero  played  at  chariot  race, 

"With  heroes  strove  the  prize  to  gain  ; 


174  SOXGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

And  from  their  thrones,  in  pride  of  place, 
Kings  cheered  the  coursers  o'er  the  plain. 

Would  we  renounce  our  gladsome  play 
For  one  that  early  Greece  possessed  ? 

When  gods  and  games  have  passed  away — 
On  classic  page  alone  exist  ? 

How  fondly  dear  the  cherished  hour 

Which  we  in  field-sport  pleasures  spent  ? 

When  life's  deep  shadows  round  us  lower 
To  be  with  storm  and  tempest  blent? 

Ah  !  well  we  loved  the  lively  game, 
The  wild  excitement  of  the  play  ! 

Which  bade  to  scorn  the  slothful  name, 
And  fleetly  speed  the  ball  away  ! 

'Mid  intervals  from  toil  apart, 

When  loosed  from  Locke,  from  Yirgil  free, 
What  rapture  thrilled  each  youthful  heart! 

How  rang  the  air  with  frolic  glee  ! 

The  chieftains  brave  arrayed  their  sides, 
With  dauntless  mien, — as  heroes  are; 


EARLHAM   COLLEGE   GAMES.  175 

And  wlien  the  ball  so  swiftly  rides, 
Begins  the  surging  tug  of  war ! 

As  though  engaged  in  martial  strife — 

The  contest  urged  with  might  and  main — 

Though  seeking  no  opponent's  life, 
Oft  lies  he  prostrate  on  the  plain. 

And  when  the  swiftly  fleeting  ball, 

Propelled  by  many  a  sturdy  blow, 
Eventfully  hath  reached  the  goal, 

The  victors'  wild  exultings  flow  ! 

Oh!  regaljoust !  forever  live, 

When  I  thy  praises  sing  no  more  ! 
On  Earl  ham's  grounds  benignly  thrive, 

"While  life's  mad  maelstroms  round  me  roar ! 
EARLHAM  COLLEGE,  1864. 


THE  AUCTIONEER. 


\X7TIILE  passing  one  evening  up  Madison  street, 

A  flaming  red  flag  chanced  my  vision  to  greet; 
And  painted  in  letters,  at  least  a  yard  long, 
The  word  I  beheld  there  which  now  heads  my  song. 
A  bell  was  kept  vigorously  gingling  the  while, 
The  multitude  passing  within  to  beguile. 

As   the   protent    word,    "AUCTIOX,"    appeared   to 

my  sight, 

I  read  the  bill  over  beside  the  gas  light; 
While  I  stood  there  perusing  the  huge-lettered  bill, 
I  heard  a  voice  yelling  both  loudly  and  shrill, 
"  How  much  am  I  offered  ?  "  and,  "  Going  at  ten  !  " 
The  words  were  repeated  again  and  again. 


178  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


Curiosity  prompted  to  enter  and  see 
What  caused  such  a  shouting — such  ardour  and  glee. 
To  answer  his  query,  "  How  much  am  I  bid  ?  " 
Within  'mong  the  bidders  I  shortly  was  hid. 


On  a  box  stood  a  man  who  in  statue  was  small, 
His  shadow  reflected  behind  on  the  wall ; 
He  swayed  his  arms  wildly,  straining  hard  at  his  throat, 
Quite  freely  perspiring,  divest  of  a  coat ; 
His  round  face  was  ruddy,  his  nose,  too,  was  read, 
And  hair  the  same  color  lay  thick  o'er  his  head. 
How  the  laugh  of  his  hearers  rang  loudly  and  shrill 
At  the  jokes  which  he  cracked  with  a  hearty  good  will ! 


"  How  much  am  I  offered?  " — repeating  his  cry, 
As  he  a  huge  rocking-chair  brandished  on  high  : — 
"  I  pid  you  von  dollar  vor  dot  rocking-chair  !  " 
A  provident  dutchman  replied  to  him  there — 
"  Och!  an'  two  dollars  I'll  bid  ye  for  that !  " 
Responded  the  liberal  Irishman,  Pat. 
"Now,  going!  still  going! — who  gives  me  the  half?" 
His  words  became  witty,  and  raised  aloud  laugh. 
"Still  going! — and  going! — the  sturdy  voice  rang — 
And  sold ! — as  the  hammer  carne  down  with  a  bang !  " 


THE    AUCTIONEER.  179 

The  contest  was  ended;  Pat  shouldered  the  chair, 
And  moved  through  the  crowd  with  his  prize  in  the  air ; 
For  the  place  was  well  peopled  with  boys,  and  with  men, 
A  few  came  to  purchase,  while  others  again, 
Came  to  hear  the  man  joke,  who  so  loudly  did  yell, 
And   whose  words  were  rolled  forth  with  tremendous 
swell. 

"  How  much  am  I  offered  ?  "  the  auctioneer  cried; 
And  the  tones  of  his  voice  had  the  thunders  defied, 
As  he  held  a  split  rolling-pin  high  in  the  air, 
Menacingly  flourishing  over  them  there. 
"  Twenty  cents!  "  said  a  by-stander,  blinking  his  eyes, 
As  though  he  already  had  hold  of  the  prize. 
The  party  who  bid  wore  a  tall  beaver  hat, 
Which,  indeed,  was  quite  seedy,  and  dinted  at  that. 

A  lean-visaged  customer  called,  "  Twenty-five!  " 
"  That  is  a  cheap  rolling-pin, as  I'm  alive;" 
The  auctioneer  said,  as  he  handed  the  pin, 
To  the  one  who  had  bought  it,  with  visage  so  thin. 
Quite  satisfied,  too,  then  the  man  did  appear, 
For  his  wife  had  plead  with  him  for  more  than  a  year, 
To  purchase  an  article  like  to  the  same, 
Which  he  neath  his  arm  now  bore  home  to  his  dame. 


180  SONGS    OF   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

The  next  thing  the  auctioneer  showed  to  the  crowd, 
And  he  truly  with  sole-leather  lungs  was  endowed, 
Was  a  dozen  of  plates;  some  of  them  were  cracked ; 
But  the  man  well  made  up  for  that  which  they  lacked, 
By  the  praises  thick  lavished  upon  the  said  plates ; 
And  offered  to  sell  them,  though  some  were  not  mates, 
To  the  one  who  bid  highest;  and  then  he  threw  in, 
To  make  them  sell  hotter,  some  platters  of  tin  ; — 
Then  bellowed  such  praises  with  ranting  and  roar, 
As,  I  think  I  say  truly,  I  ne'er  heard  before. 


Old  shoe-brushes,  breast-pins,  gold  lockets  and  rules ; 
Together  with  hatchets,  and  all  sorts  of  tools ; 
Hard-soap  and  dried-apples,  and  tables  and  chairs, 
Surcingles,  trunks,  tooth-picks,  keen  razors,  dull  knives; 
Big  bread-bowls  and  wash-tubs,  men   bought  for  their 
wives. 


A  by-stander  purchased  a  huge,  yellow  watch ; 
Broad  dialect  proved  him  undoubtedly  Scotch — 
Quickly  paid  for  his  treasure,  passed  out  through  the  door, 
And  I'll  warrant  that  auctioneer  sold  him  no  more; 
For  he  thought  of  a  truth  'twas  a  gold  watch  he  had, 
When  truly  the  sharper  had  swindled  him  bad. 


THE   AUCTIONEER.  181 

It  chanced  the  Highlander  while  moving  up  street, 
An  honest  acquaintance  there  happened  to  meet ; 
His    good  fortune   disclosed   to   his  friend's  wond'ring 

eyes, 

Jamie  in  raptures  proclaimed — "  A  rich  prize!  " 
He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  watch  which  did  shine 
As  bright  as  the  gold  that  is  dug  from  the  mine. — 
"  Ten  dollars  is  all  that  I  gave  for  the  same  ! 
As  tr-r-uly  I  say  it  as  Jamie's  my  name! 
And  almost  I'd  thought  that  the  fellow  had  stole  it, 
Or  he  ne'er  so  cheaply  to  me  would  have  sold  it." — 
Then  the  honest  man  found,  to  his  sorrow,  alas ! 
That  the  watch  would  not  run,  and  that  it  was — brass. 


TO  LEONA. 


HPHE  long  years  are  fleeting,  are  going  forever, 

No  more  to  return  with  their  pleasures  and  pains ; 
I  ne'er  can  forget  thee — how  vain  the  endeavor? 
While  life  in  this  bosom  its  current  maintains. 

Forget  thee  !  oh  !  never  ! — those  orbs  above  shining, 
May  cease  to  cheer  earth  with  their  radiance  bright ; — 

Where  thou  art  forgotten  'tis  nought  but  repining, 
For  thou  art  the  star  that  still  lendeth  me  light. 

Thine  image  remaineth  forever  before  me, 

As  when  thy  companion  through  years  that  are  gone  ; — 
Oh !  radiant  Leona !  deep  sadness  steals  o'er  me 

With  dreams  of  the  maiden  of  life's  early  morn. 

How  ripened  our  friendship  to  fond  adoration! 
This  heart  poured  its  treasures  at  beauty's  fair  shrine; 


184  SONGS    OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

I  gazed  on  my  idol  with  love's  admiration ; — 

My  soul  with  fond  rapture  was  bound  up  in  thine. 

The  shadows  of  twilight  at  eve  would  decoy  us, 

When  moon-light  was  gladdening  the  gloom  of  the 
grove. 

Oh  !  hliss  ruled  the  hour !  as  unspeakably  joyous 
As  moon-beams  light  dancing  on  foilage  above. 

Oh  !  cruel  the  fortune  our  souls  to  so  sever! 

Dark  doom  hath  decreed  each  delight  to  conceal; 
How  useless  the  striving !  soul  grieve  on  forever, 

Subdued  by  the  sorrow  fate  calls  thee  to  feel. 


THE  POACHERS'  DEFEAT. 


TF  the  midst  of  the  night, 

When  the  lightning  was  bright, 
We  met  at  the  cave  in  the  valley ; 
And,  never  delayed, 
By  the  storm  dismayed, 
To  the  rendezvous  boldly  did  rally. 

Bold  outlaws  expelled, 
Grim  want  had  impelled 

To  plunder  to-night,  the  rich  region ; 
And  should  it  be  found 
That  robbers  were  round, 

We  must  flee,  for  the  foemen  were  legion. 

E'er  an  hour  had  gone  past, 
We  beheld  him  at  last, — 
Our  chief,  we  so  anxiously  waited ; — 


186  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

How  vivid  that  flash  ? 
And  there  followed  a  crash  ! 
As  the  wrath  of  the  storm  culminated. 


By  the  cavern  without, 

There  rose  a  wild  shout ! 
Could  it  be  the  dread  foe  were  appearing? 

We  presently  knew 

The  surmise  untrue, 
]N~or  heeded  the  tempest's  careering. 


Yet,  again  there  arose 

From  friends  or  from  foes, 
For  we  recked  not  from  which,  such  a  clatter, 

That,  fearful  of  harm, 

We  sprang  in  alarm 
To  ascertain  what  wTas  the  matter ! 


From  the  cavern's  rude  door, 

The  torch  flickered  o'er 
The  countenance  of  Erin's  fair  daughter ; 

In  affright  did  she  fret, 

As  she  shook  oif  the  wet, 
Like  a  fowl  just  emerging  from  water. 


187 


"  Hunt  for  Mikey,"  she  said, 

"  I'm  afraid  he  is  dead  !  " 
"  Shure,  his  driving  was  nothing  to  brag  on! 

He  has  strayed  from  the  road, 

"  An'  mesilf  has  been  throw'd 
"  On  the  horses'  heels  out  of  the  wagon ! " 

By  the  light  of  the  lamp, 

Saturated  with  damp, 
We  beheld  the  lost  traveler  benighted ; 

Yet,  we  found  him  not  killed, 

Though  potatoes  were  spilled, 
And  his  lady  was  grieviously  'frighted. 

"  Och  !  Mikey,  me  dear  ! 

"Where's  the  keg*  wid  the  beer  ?  "          / 

O 

Were  the  first  words  by  Bridget  there  spoken  ; 

Whose  feminine  voice 

Began  to  rejoice, 
When  none  of  Mike's  bones  were  found  broken. 

They  were  guided  again 
From  the  dangerous  plain, 
To  the  road,  where  they  thanked  us  full  gladly. 


188  SONGS   OF   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

As  the  night  did  prevail, 
We  secured  all  the  ale, 
"Which  had  treated  poor  Mikey  so  badly  ! 

Those  benevolent  men, 

My  companions,  did  then, 
Unheeding  the  words  of  my  warning, 

Deeply  drink  of  the  draught; 

And  the  ale  which  they  quaffed, 
O'ercame  them  with  slumber  till  morning. 

And  the  raid  which  was  planned 

By  our  valliant  band, 
That  carousal  at  midnight  defeated ; 

For  the  foe  ascertained, 

The  marauders  remained, 
And,  hotly  persued,  we  retreated ! 


TO   MISS  A  *  *  *  *  B 


T^AIIl-haired  and  graceful ! — who  can  view 

Thy  soft  step  by  the  foot-light  fall, 
Pressed  lightly  as  the  silver  dew, 

But  must  some  fairy  scene  recall? 
The  look  that  beams  from  thy  sweet  face, 

The  sparkle  dancing  in  thine  eye, 
That  fautless  form  of  moulded  grace, 

The  thousand  charms  that  round  thee  lie  ! — 

Oh  !  mistress  of  celestial  chimes! 

There  is  a  power  vouchsafed  to  thee, 
That  bids  thee  bear  through  earthly  climes 

Divinest  strains  of  rhapsody. 
For,  from  thy  soft-toned  silvery  bells, 

Such  notes  are  borne  as  angels  hoar  ! 


190  SONGS    OF    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

And  when  their  voice  in  sweetness  swells, 
What  rapture  thrills  the  listening  ear? 

In  harmony  thine  earliest  thought 

Was  cradled ;  while  thine  infant  hand 
To  weave  the  tuneful  arts  was  taught 

Which  spell-bound  thousands  may  command 
And,  oh  !  what  varied  scene  has  been 

This  changeful  life  to  such  as  thou, 
Who,  with  its  lights,  dark  gloom  has  seen  ? 

Bright  is  the  beam  around  thee  now. 

True  genius  brings  thee  fame,  sweet  maid ! 

A  people  know  thy  power  to  charm ; 
With  all  thy  matchless  skill  displayed, 

What  heart  but  must  grow  fond  and  warm  ? 
Xever  in  former  years  has  come 

So  fair  a  charmer,  skilled  to  bring 
Such  rare  celestial  music  from 

The  courts  whose  chimers  the  seraphs  ring. 

When  those  sweet  bells,  with  tuneful  tongue, 
Respond  in  pleasing  gleeful  notes, 

While  thy  fair  fingers  dance  among 
The  chimes  with  the  silver  throats; 


TO  MISS  A 


191 


Or  when  the  horn  would  sound  for  thee- 
Its  fair  young  mistress — who  so  well 

Can  wake  its  voice  of  melody, 
Delight  lives  in  the  magic  spell ! 


The  Maid  of  the  Mississippi, 

A    POETICAL    ROMANCE    OF    THE    RIVER, 
BY 

THEODORE  F.  PRICE, 

Is  now  ready  for  the  press,  and  will  soon  be  issued  in  elegant  style, 
and  beautiful  binding:  a  companion  volume  to  SONGS  OF  THE 
SOUTHWEST."* 


What  BAYARD  TAYLOR,  the  celebrated  traveler,  author  and  poet  says  of  it: 
The  author  has  just  shown  me  the  manuscript  of  "THE  MAID  or  THE  MISSISSIPPI,"  a 
really  beautiful  poetical  tale;  I  dUcover  it  to  be  highly  meritorious.    A  vein  of  originality 
prevados  it,  and  it  contains  some  new  and  striking  poetical  features.     The  action  is  highly 
dramatic.     There  are  four  leading  characters,  strongly  drawn;  and  the  interest  grows  till 
the  plot  culminates.     He  informs  me  that  he  is  in  search  of  a  publisher.     I  trust  he  will  be 
successful,  ai  there  exists  no  work  of  like  character. 
TKEMOXT  HOUSE,  CHICAGO,  1875. 


BENJ.  F.  TAYLOR,  author  of  "Songs  of  Yesterday,"  "Sheaves  of  Rhyme,"  Etc.,  eays: 
"There  is  very  decided  dramatic  and  descriptive  power  in  "THE  MAID  or  THE  MISSIS 
SIPPI,"  and  the  interest  is  admirably  sustained.    It  ought  to  win  the  author  golden  opinions, 
and,  if  suitably  produced,  undoubtedly  will." 


WEB.  WILDER,  author  of  "The  Annals  of  Kansas,"  in  Leavenworth,  (Ka^,.,)  Times: 
"We  have  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  the  manuscript  of  a  poem  entitled  "TiiE  MAID 
OF  THE  MISSISSIPPI,"  by  Theodjre  F.  Price,  and  we  have  found  every  page  sparkling  with 
the  unmistakable  marks  of  the  highest  genius.  The  plot  is  simple,  but  not  so  simple  as 
Alexander  Smith's  "Life  Dream,"  so  widjly  known  in  this  country  and  Europe  a  few  years 
ago.  There  is  first  a  fin'j  poetical  description  of  our  great  river  so  dear  to  us  of  the  West; 
and  then  we  are  taken  on  bjard  a  Mississippi  steamer,  a  place  hitherto  un visited  by  the 
poetic  Muse,  and  events  of  one  night  are  made  to  pass  before  our  eyes  with  startling  rapid 
ity.  Those  who  have  spent  a  night  upon  the  river,  (and  who  in  the  West  has  not?)  will 
readily  ace  ml  to  Mr.  Pric3  descriptive  powers  almost  unequalled,  as  well  as  a  wonderfully 
fine  imagination,  and  taste  of  no  common  ordur.  His  characters  stand  out  in  bold  relief, 
and  preserve  their  characteristics  distinct  throughout  the  action  of  the  whole  story.  His 
style  resembles  that  of  Shelly  somewhat,  although  his  poetry  conveys  a  stronger  human 
interest,  characterized  by  remarkable  vigor. 

*SONGS  OF  THE  SOUTHWEST  will  be  forwarded  on  receipt  of  One  Dollar. 

Address,  THEODORE  F.  PRICE,  Wichita, -Kansas. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


NOV 


L.D  21A-50m-4,'GO 
(A9562slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


